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COMPANIONS 


OF 


MY      SOLITUDE. 


Bv  ARTHUR  HELPS, 

AUTHOR   OF     "FRIKNDS     IN      COUNCIL,"      "  REALMAH,'' 
"CASIMIR     MARKMMA." 


From  the  Seventh  London  Edition. 


BOSTON: 

ROBERTS      BROTHERS. 

187S. 


19rfss  of 

JOHN    WILSON     AND    SON, 

Ciimbridge. 


COM  PANIONS 


SOLITUDE. 


CHAPTER    I. 

"\T  7IIEN  in  the  country,  I  live  much  alone  ;  and, 
as  I  wander  over  downs  and  commons  and 
through  hines  with  lofty  hedges,  many  thoughts 
come  into  my  mind.  I  find,  too,  that  the  same  ones 
come  again  and  again,  and  arc  spiritual  companions. 
At  times  they  insist  upon  being  with  me,  and  are 
resolutely  intrusive.  I  thinlc  I  will  describe  them, 
that  so  I  may  have  more  mastery  over  them. 
Instead  of  suffering  them  to  haunt  me  as  vague  faces 
and  half-fashioned  resemblances,  I  will  make  them 
into  distinct  pictures,  which  I  can  give  away,  or 
hang  up  in  my  room,  turning  them,  if  I  please, 
with  their  faces  to  the  wall ;  and  in  short  be  free  to 
do  what  I  like  with  them. 


6  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

Ellesmere  will  then  be  able  to  deride  them  at  his 
pleasure  ;  and  so  they  will  go  through  the  alembic  of 
sarcasm  ;  Dunsfoi'd  will  have  something  more  to 
approve,  or  rebuke  ;  Lucy  something  more  to  love,  or 
to  hate.  Even  my  dogs  and  my  trees  will  be  the 
better  for  this  work,  as,  when  it  is  done,  they  will, 
perhaps,  have  a  more  disengaged  attention  from  me. 
Faithful,  steadfast  creatures,  both  dogs  and  trees  ;  how 
easy  and  charming  is  your  converse  with  me  com- 
pared with  the  eager,  exclusive,  anxious  way  in 
which  the  creations  of  my  own  brain,  who  at  least 
should  have  some  filial  love  and  respect  for  me,  insist 
upon  my  attention ! 

It  was  a  thoroughly  English  day  to-day,  sombre 
and  quiet,  the  sky  coming  close  to  the  earth,  and 
every  thing  seeming  to  be  of  one  color.  I  wandered 
over  the  downs,  not  heeding  much  which  way  I 
went,  and  driven  by  one  set  of  thoughts  which  of 
late  have  had  great  hold  upon  me. 

I  think  often  of  the  hopes  of  the  race  here,  of 
what  is  to  become  of  our  western  civilization,  and 
what  can  be  made  of  it.  Others  may  pursue  science 
or  art,  and  I  long  to  do  so  too ;  but  I  cannot  help 
thinking  of  the  state  and  fortunes  of  large  masses  of 
mankind,  and  hoping  that  thought  may  do  some- 


COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE.  *j 

thing  for  them.  After  all  my  cogitations,  my  mind 
generally  returns  to  one  thing,  the  education  of  the 
people.  For  want  of  general  cultivation  how  greatly 
individual  excellence  is  crippled.  Of  what  avail, 
for  example,  is  it  for  any  one  of  us  to  have  sur- 
mounted any  social  terror,  or  any  superstition,  while 
his  neighbors  lie  sunk  in  it.''  His  conduct  in  refer- 
ence to  them  becomes  a  constant  care  and  burden. 

Meditating  upon  general  improvement,  I  often 
think  a  great  deal  about  the  climate  in  these  parts 
of  the  world  ;  and  I  see  that  without  much  husbandry 
of  our  means  and  resources,  it  is  difficult  for  us  to 
be  any  thing  but  low  barbarians.  The  difficulty  of 
living  at  all  in  a  cold,  damp,  destinjctive  climate  is 
great.  Socrates  went  about  with  very  scanty  cloth- 
ing, and  men  praise  his  wisdom  in  caring  so  little 
for  the  goods  of  this  life.  He  ate  sparingly,  and  of 
mean  food.  That  is  not  the  way,  I  suspect,  that  we 
can  make  a  philosopher  here.  There  are  people 
who  would  deride  one  for  saying  this,  and  would 
contend  that  it  gives  too  much  weight  to  worldly 
tilings.  But  I  suspect  thcv  are  misled  by  notions 
borrowed  from  Eastern  climates.  Here  we  must 
make  prudence  one  of  the  substantial  virtues. 

One  thing,  though,  I  see,  and  that  is,  that  there  is 
a  quantity  of  misplaced  labor,  of  labor  which  is  not 


8  COMPANIONS   OF  M7  SOLITUDE. 

consumed  in  stern  contest  with  the  rugged  world 
around  us,  in  the  endeavor  to  compel  Nature  to  give 
us  our  birthright,  but  in  fighting  with  "  strong  delu- 
sions "  of  all  kinds  ;  or  rather  in  putting  up  obstacles 
which  we  laboriously  knock  down  again,  in  making 
Chinese  mazes  between  us  and  objects  we  have 
daily  need  of,  and  where  we  should  have  only  the 
shortest  possible  line  to  go.  As  I  have  said  else- 
where, half  the  labor  of  the  world  is  pure  loss,  —  the 
work  of  Sisyphus  rolling  up  stones  to  come  down 
again  inevitably. 

Law,  for  example,  what  a  loss  is  there  ;  of  time, 
of  heail,  of  love,  of  leisure?  There  are  good  men 
whose  minds  are  set  upon  improving  the  law  ;  but 
I  doubt  whether  any  of  them  are  prepared  to  go  far 
enough.  Here,  again,  we  must  hope  most  from  gen- 
eral improvement  of  the  people.  Perhaps,  though, 
some  one  great  genius  will  do  something  for  us.  I 
have  often  fancied  that  a  man  might  play  the  part  of 
Brutus  in  the  law.  He  might  simulate  madness  in 
order  to  ensure  freedom.  He  might  make  himself 
a  great  lawyer,  rise  to  eminence  in  the  profession, 
and  then  turn  round  and  say,  "  I  am  not  going  to 
enjoy  this  high  seat  and  dignity ;  but  intend  hence- 
forward to  be  an  advocate  for  the  people  of  this 
country  against  the  myriad  oppressions  and  vexa- 


COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE.  9 

tions  of  the  law.  No  Chanccllorsliips  or  Chief-Jus- 
ticeships for  me.  I  have  only  pretended  to  be  this 
slave  in  order  that  you  should  not  say  that  I  am  an 
untried  and  unpractical  man,  —  that  I  do  not  under- 
stand your  mysteries." 

This,  of  course,  is  not  the  dramatic  w^ay  in  which 
such  a  thing  would  be  done.  But  there  is  greatness 
enough  in  the  world  for  it  to  be  done.  If  no  lawyer 
rises  up  to  fill  the  place  which  my  imagination  has 
assigned  for  him,  we  must  hope  that  statesmen  will 
do  something  for  us  in  this  matter,  that  they  will 
eventually  protect  us  (though,  hitherto,  they  never 
have  done  so)  from  lawyers. 

There  are  many  things  done  now  in  the  law  at 
great  expense  by  private  individuals  which  ought 
to  be  done  for  all  by  officers  of  the  State.  It  is  as 
if  each  individual  had  to  make  a  road  for  himself 
whenever  he  went  out,  instead  of  using  the  king's 
highway. 

Many  of  the  worst  things  in  the  profession  take 
place  low  down  in  it.  I  am  not  sure  that  I  would 
not  try  the  plan  of  having  public  notaries  with  very 
extensive  functions,  subjecting  them  to  official  con- 
trol. What  exclamations  about  freedom  we  should 
hear,  I  dare  say,  if  any  large  measure  of  this  kind 
were  proposed;  whicli  exclamations  and  tlicir  con- 


lO  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

sequences  have  long  been,  in  my  mind,  a  chief  ob- 
stacle to  our  possessing  the  reality  of  freedom. 
What  difference  is  it  whether  I  am  a  slave  to  my 
lawyer,  or  subject  indirectly  to  more  official  control 
in  the  changing  of  my  property?  I  do  not  know  a 
meaner  and  sadder  portion  of  a  man's  existence,  or 
one  more  likely  to  be  full  of  impatient  sorrow,  than 
that  which  he  spends  in  waiting  at  the  offices  of 
lawyers. 

It  is  to  be  observed  that  all  satire  falls  short  when 
aimed  against  the  practices  in  the  Law.  No  man 
can  imagine,  not  Swift  himself,  things  more  shame- 
ful, absurd,  and  grotesque  than  the  things  which 
do  take  place  daily  in  the  Law.  Satire  becomes 
merely  narrative.  A  modern  novelist  depicts  a  man 
ruined  by  a  legacy  of  a  thousand  pounds,  and  sleep- 
ing under  a  four-legged  table  because  it  reminded 
him  of  the  days  when  he  used  to  sleep  in  a  four-post 
bed.  This  last  touch  about  the  bed  is  humorous, 
but  the  substance  of  the  story  is  dry  narrative 
only. 

These  evils  are  not  of  yesterday,  or  of  this  country 
only ;  I  obsei-ve  that  the  first  Spanish  colonists  in 
America  write  home  to  the  Government  begging 
them  not  to  allow  lawyers  to  come  to  the  colony. 

At  the  same  time,  we  must  not  forget  how  many 


COMPANIONS   OF  ^fT  SOLITUDE.  il 

of  the  evils  attributed  solely  to  the  proceedings  of 
lawyers  result  from  the  want  of  knowledge  of  busi- 
ness in  the  world  in  general,  and  its  inaptness  for 
business,  the  anxiety  to  arrange  more  and  for  longer 
time  than  is  wise  or  possible,  and  the  occasional 
trusting  of  allairs  to  women,  who  in  our  country  are 
brought  up  to  be  utterly  incompetent  to  the  manage- 
ment of  aflairs.  Still,  with  all  these  allowances,  and 
taking  care  to  admit,  as  we  must,  if  we  have  any 
fairness,  that  notwithstanding  the  element  of  chican- 
ery and  perverse  small-mindedness  in  which  they 
are  involved,  there  are  many  admirable  and  very 
high-minded  men  to  be  found  in  all  grades  of  the 
law  (perhaps  a  more  curious  instance  of  the  power 
of  the  human  being  to  maintain  its  structure  unim- 
paired in  the  midst  of  a  hostile  element,  than  that  a 
man  should  be  able  to  abide  in  a  heated  oven)  — 
admitting  all  these  extenuating  circumstances,  we 
must  nevertheless  declare,  as  I  set  out  by  saying,  that 
Law  affords  a  notable  example  of  loss  of  time,  of 
heart,  of  love,  of  leisure.* 

*  Many  of  tlie  adjuncts  and  circumstances  of  the  Law  are 
calculated  to  maintain  it  as  a  mystery:  I  allude  to  the  un- 
couth form  and  size  of  deeds,  the  antiquated  words,  the 
unusual  kind  of  handwriting.  Physicians'  prescriptions 
may  have  a  better  effect  for  being  expressed  mysteriously, 
but  legal  matters  cannot  surely  be  made  too  clear,  even  in 
the  merest  minutiic. 


12  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

Well,  then,  as  another  instance  of  misplaced  labor, 
I  suppose  we  must  take  a  good  deal  of  what  goes  on 
in  schools  and  colleges,  and,  indeed,  In  parliaments 
and  other  assemblages  of  men,  not  to  speak  of  the 
wider  waste  of  means  and  labor  which  prevails  in 
all  physical  works,  —  such  as  buildings,  furniture, 
decorations  ;  and  not  merely  waste  but  obstruction, 
so  that  if  there  were  a  good  angel  attendant  on  the 
human  race,  with  power  to  act  on  earth,  it  would 
destroy  as  fast  as  made  a  considerable  portion  of 
men's  productions,  as  the  kindest  thing  which  could 
be  done  for  man  and  the  best  instruction  for  him. 

The  truth  is,  we  must  considerably  address  our- 
selves to  cope  with  Nature.  Here  again,  too,  we 
come  to  the  want  of  more  extended  and  general  cul- 
tivation, for  otherwise  we  cannot  fully  enjoy  or  profit 
by  scientific  discovery.  At  present  a  man  in  a  civil- 
ized country  is  surrounded  by  things  which  are 
greater  than  he  is ;  he  does  not  understand  them, 
cannot  regulate  them,  cannot  mend  them. 

This  ignorance  proceeds  in  some  respects  from 
division  of  labor.  A  man  knows  how  to  make  a 
pin's  head  admirably,  but  is  afraid  to  handle  or  give 
an  opinion  upon  things  which  he  has  not  daily  knowl- 
edge of.  This  applies  not  only  to  physical  things, 
but  to  law,  church,  state,  and  the  arts  and  sciences 
generally. 


COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE.  13 

After  all,  the  advancement  of  the  world  depends 
upon  the  use  of  small  balances  of  advantage  over 
disadvantage  ;  for  there  is  compensation  everywhere 
and  in  every  thing.  No  one  discovery  resuscitates 
the  world  ;  certainly  no  physical  one.  Each  new 
good  thought,  or  word,  or  deed,  brings  its  shadow 
with  it ;  and,  as  I  have  just  said,  it  is  upon  the  small 
balances  of  gain  that  we  get  on  at  all.  Often,  too, 
this  occurs  indirectly,  as  when  moral  gains  give 
physical  gains,  and  these  again  give  room  for  further 
moral  and  intellectual  culture. 

Frequently  it  seems  as  if  the  faculties  of  man 
were  not  quite  adequate  as  yet  to  his  situation. 
This  is  perhaps  more  to  be  seen  in  contemplating 
individuals,  than  in  looking  at  mankind  in  general. 
The  individual  seems  the  sport  of  circumstance. 
When  Napoleon  invaded  Russia  (the  proximate 
cause  of  his  downfall),  though  doubtless  there  were 
very  adverse  and  unfortunate  circumstances  attend- 
ant upon  that  invasion,  yet,  upon  the  whole,  it  gave 
a  good  opportunity  for  working  out  ,the  errors  of 
the  man's  mind  and  system.  The  circumstances 
were  not  un(;iir,  as  we  may  say,  against  hiiu.  Most 
prosperous  men,  perhaps  I  should  say  most  men, 
have  in  the  course  of  their  lives  their  caiupaign  in 
Russia,  —  when  they  strain  their  fortune  to  the  utter- 


14  COMPANIONS    OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

most,  and  often  it  breaks  under  them.  I  did  not 
mean  any  thing  like  this  when  I  said  that  the  indi- 
vidual seems  the  sport  of  circumstance.  Neither 
did  I  mean  that  small  continuous  faults  and  mis- 
doings have  considerable  effect  upon  a  man,  such  as 
the  errors  and  vices  of  youth,  which  are  silently  put 
down  to  a  man  from  day  to  day,  like  his  reckoning 
at  an  inn.  But  I  alluded  to  those  very  unfortunate 
concurrences  of  ciixumstances,  which  most  men's 
lives  will  tell  them  of,  where  a  man,  from  some 
small  error  or  omission,  from  some  light  carelessness, 
or  over-trust,  in  thoughtless  innocence  or  inexperi- 
ence, gets  entangled  in  a  web  of  adverse  circum- 
stances, which  will  be  company  for  him  on  sleepless 
nights  and  anxious  days  throughout  a  large  part  of 
his  life.  Were  success  in  life  (morally  or  physically) 
the  main  object  here,  it  certainly  would  seem  as  if 
a  little  more  faculty  in  man  were  sadly  needed.  A 
similar  thing  occurs  often  to  the  body,  when  a  man, 
from  some  small  mischance  or  oversight,  lays  the 
beginning  of  a  disease  which  shall  depress  and 
enfeeble  him  while  he  sojourns  upon  earth.  And  it 
seems,  when  he  looks  back,  as  if  such  a  little  thing 
would  have  saved  him  ;  if  he  had  not  crossed  over 
the  road,  if  he  had  not  gone  to  see  his  friend  on 
that  particular  day,  if  the  dust  had  not   been   so 


COMTANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE.  15 

unpleasant  on  that  occasion,  the  whole  course  of  his 
life  would  have  been  diflerent.  Living,  as  we  do, 
in  the  midst  of  stern  gigantic  laws,  which  crush 
every  thing  down  that  comes  in  their  way,  which 
know  no  excuses,  admit  of  no  small  errors,  never 
send  a  man  back  to  learn  his  lesson  and  try  him 
again,  but  are  as  inexorable  as  Fate,  —  living,  I  say, 
with  such  powers  above  us  (unseen,  too,  for  the 
most  part),  it  docs  seem  as  if  the  faculties  of  man 
were  hardly  as  yet  adequate  to  his  situation  here. 

Such  considerations  as  the  above  tend  to  charity 
and  huniilitv;  and  they  point  also  to  the  existence 
of  a  future  state. 

As  regards  charity,  for  example,  a  man  might 
extend  to  others  the  ineffable  tenderness  which  he 
has  for  some  of  his  own  sins  and  errors,  because  he 
knows  the  whole  history  of  them ;  and  though, 
taken  at  a  particular  point,  they  appear  very  large 
and  very  black,  he  knew  them  in  their  early  days 
when  they  were  play-fellows  instead  of  tyrant 
demons.  There  are  others  which  he  cannot  so  well 
smooth  over,  because  he  knows  that  in  their  case 
inward  proclivity  coincided  with  outwnid  tempta- 
tion ;  and,  if  he  is  a  just  man,  he  is  well  aware  that 
if  he  had  not  erred  here  he  would  have  erred  there  ; 


6  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

that  experience,  even  at  famine  price,  was  necessary 
for  him  in  those  matters.  But,  in  considering  the 
misdoings  and  misfortunes  of  others,  he  may  as  well 
begin,  at  least,  by  thinking  that  they  are  of  the  class 
which  he  has  found  from  his  own  experience  to 
contain  a  larger  amount  of  what  we  call  ill-fortune 
than  of  any  thing  like  evil  disposition.  For  time 
and  chance,  says  the  Preacher,  happen  to  all  men. 

Thus  I  thought  in  my  walk  this  dull  and  dreary 
afternoon,  till  the  rising  of  the  moon  and  the  return 
from  school  of  the  children  with  their  satchels  com- 
ing over  the  down  warned  me,  too,  that  it  was  time 
to  return  home  ;  and  so,  trying  not  to  think  any 
more  of  these  things,  I  looked  at  the  bare  beech- 
trees,  still  beautiful,  and  the  dull  sheep-ponds  scat- 
tered here  and  there,  and  thought  that  the  country 
even  in  winter  and  in  these  northern  regions,  like  a 
great  man  in  adversity  and  just  disgrace,  was  still 
to  be  looked  at  with  hopeful  tenderness,  even  if,  in 
the  man's  case,  there  must  also  be  somewhat  of 
respectful  condemnation.  As  I  neared  home  I  com- 
forted myself,  too,  by  thinking  that  the  inhabitants 
of  sunnier  climes  do  not  know  how  winning  and 
joyful  is  the  look  of  the  chimney-tops  of  our  homes 
in  the  midst  of  what  to  them  would  seem  most  des- 
olate and  dreary. 


CHAPTER    II. 

T  SUPPOSE  it  has  happened  to  most  men  who 
observe  their  thoughts  at  all,  to  notice  how  some 
expression  returns  again  and  again  in  the  course  of 
their  meditations,  or,  indeed,  of  their  business,  form- 
ing as  it  were  a  refrain  to  all  they  think,  or  do,  for 
any  given  day.  Sometimes,  too,-this  refrain  has  no 
particular  concern  with  the  thought  or  business  of 
the  day  ;  but  seems  as  if  it  belonged  to  some  under- 
current of  thought  and  feeling.  This,  at  least,  is 
what  I  experienced  to-day  myself,  being  haunted  by 
a  bit  of  old  Spanish  poetry,  which  obtruded  itself, 
sometimes  inopportunely,  sometimes  not  so,  in  the 
midst  of  all  my  work  or  play.     The  words  were 

these :  — 

"  Quan  prcBto  se  va  el  placer. 
Como  despues  de  acordado 

Da  dolor; 
Como,  al  nuestro  parecer, 
Qualqiiiera  tiempo  pasado 
Fu6  mcjor." 

3 


l8  COMPANIONS   OF  MT  SOLITUDE. 

How  quickly  passes  pleasure  away. 
How  after  being  granted 

It  gives  pain ; 
How  in  our  opinion 
Any  past  time 

Was  better  (than  that  we  passed  in  pleasure). 

It  was  not  that  I  agreed  with  the  sentiment,  ex- 
cept as  applied  to  vicious  pleasure,  being  rather  of 
Sydney  Smith's  mind,  that  the  remembrance  of  past 
pleasure  is  present  pleasure  ;  but  I  suppose  the 
words  chimed  in  with  reflections  on  the  past  which 
formed  the  under-current  of  my  thoughts,  as  I  went 
through  the  wood  of  beeches  which  bounded  my 
walk  to-day. 

A  critique  had  just  been  sent  me  of  some  literary 
production,  in  which  the  reviewer  was  very  gracious 
in  noticing  the  calmness  and  moderation  of  the 
author.  "Ah,  my  friend,"  thought  I  to  myself, 
"  how  differently  you  would  write  if  you  did  but 
know  the  man  as  I  do,  and  were  aware  what  a 
tierce  fellow  he  is  with  all  his  outward  smoothness, 
nardly  ruling  at  times  thoughts  which  are  any  thing 
but  calm  and  moderate,  yet  struggling  to  be  just, 
and  knowing  that  violence  is  always  lost !  " 

From  that  I  went  on  to  consider  how  intense  is 
the  loneliness  for  the  most  part  of  any  man  who 
endeavors  to  think,  —  like  the  Nile  wandering  on 


COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE.  19 

through  a  desert  country,  with  no  tributary  streams 

to  cheer  and  aid  it,  and  to  be  lost  in  sympathy  with 

its  main  current.     In  politics,  for  example,  such  a 

man  will   have  too  aflcctionate  a    regard  for    the 

people  to  be  a  democrat ;  he  would  as  soon   leave 

his  own   children  without  guidance  ;    and,  on   the 

other  hand,   he  will    have  too  great  a  regard  for 

merit  and  fitness  to  be  an  aristocrat.     He  will  find 

no  one  plank  to  walk  up  and  down  consistently ; 

and  will  be  always  looking  beyond  measures  which 

satisfy  other   men ;    and    seeing,    perhaps,   that    as 

regards  politics  themselves,  greater  things  are  to  be 

done  out  of  them  than  in  them. 

I  was  silent  in  thought  for  a   moment,  and  then 

my  refrain  came  back  again  — 

"Qiialquiera  tiempo  pasado 
Fu^  mejor." 

And  in  a  moment  I  went  back,  not  to  the  pleasures, 
but  to  the  ambitious  hopes  and  projects  of  youth. 
And  when  a  man  docs  reflect  upon  the  ambitions 
which  are  as  characteristic  of  that  period  of  life  as 
reckless  courage  or  elastic  step,  and  finds  that  at 
each  stage  of  his  journey  since,  some  hope  ha.s 
dropped  oft' as  too  burdensome,  or  too  romantic,  till 
at  last  it  is  enough  for  him  only  to  carry  himself 
at    all   upriglit   in    this   troublesome  world,  —  what 


20  COMPANIONS   OF  MT  SOLITUDE. 

thoughts  come  back  upon  him  !  How  he  meditates 
upon  his  own  errors  and  shortcomings,  and  sees 
that  he  has  had  not  only  the  hardness,  oiliness, 
and  imperturbability  of  the  world  to  contend  with, 
but  that  he  himself  has  generally  been  his  worst 
antagonist. 

In  this  mood,  I  might  have  thrown  myself  upon 
the  mound  under  a  green  beech-tree  that  was  near, 
the  king  of  the  woods,  and  uttered  many  lamenta- 
tions ;  but  instead  of  doing  any  thing  of  the  kind,  I 
M'alked  sedately  by  it ;  for,  as  we  go  on  in  life,  we 
find  we  cannot  afford  excitement,  and  we  learn  to 
be  parsimonious  in  our  emotions.  Again  I  mut- 
tered, 

"  Qualquiera  tiempo  pasado 
Fue  mejor." 

And  I  threw  forward  these  words  into  the  future, 
as  if  I  were  already  blaming  any  tendency  to  un- 
necessary emotion. 

I  entered  now  into  another  vein  of  thought,  con- 
sidering that  kind  Nature  would  not  allow  a  man 
to  be  so  very  wise,  nor  for  the  sak6  of  any  good  he 
might  do  to  others,  permit  him  to  forfeit  the  benefit 
he  must  derive  from  his  own  errors,  failures,  and 
shortcomings.  You  may  mean  well,  she  says,  and 
you  might  expect   that  I  should  give  you  any  ex- 


COMPANIONS   OF  M7  SOLITUDE.  21 

traordinary  furtlicraiicc,  and  not  suflcr  you  to  be 
plagued  witli  drawbacks  and  errors  of  your  own, 
that  so  you  might  do  your  work  undisturbed :  but 
I  love  you  too  well  for  that.  I  sacrifice  no  one  child 
for  the  benefit  of  the  rest.  You  all  must  learn 
humility. 

I  felt  the  truth  of  these  words,  and  thereupon 
gave  myself  up  to  more  cheerful  thoughts.  How 
much  cheerfulness  there  is,  by  the  way,  in  humility  ! 
I  listened  to  the  cuckoo  in  the  woods,  hearing  his 
tiresome  but  welcome  noise  for  the  first  time  in  the 
year,  and  I  looked  out  for  the  wild  flowers  that  were 
just  beginning  to  show  themselves,  and  thought 
that,  from  the  names  of  flowers,  it  is  evident  that, 
in  former  days,  poets  and  scholars  must  have  lived 
in  the  country  and  looked  well  at  Nature.  Else 
how  came  all  these  picturesque  and  poetical  names, 
"  Love  in  idleness,"  "  Venus's  looking-glass,"  and 
such  like? 

But  as  the  shades  of  evening  came  on  in  the 
wood,  my  thoughts  went  away  from  tliese  simple 
topics  ;  the  refrain,  too, 

"  Qi,ian  presto  se  va  el  placer," 

sounded   in    my  ears   again  ;     and   I    passed   on   to 
meditations  of  like  color  to  those  in  the  former  part 


23  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

of  my  walk.  In  addition  to  the  other  hindrances  I 
alluded  to  before,  this  also  must  come  home  to  the 
mind  of  many  a  man  of  the  present  generation: 
how  he  is  to  discern,  much  more  to  teach,  even  in 
small  things,  without  having  clear  views,  or  distinct 
convictions,  upon  some  of  the  greatest  matters,  — 
upon  religious  questions  for  instance?  And  yet  I 
suppose  it  must  be  tried.  Even  a  man  of  Goethe's 
immense  industry  and  great  intellectual  resources, 
feared  to  throw  himself  upon  the  sea  of  biblical 
criticism.  But,  at  the  same  time,  how  poor,  timid, 
and  tentative  must  be  all  discourse  built  upon  in- 
ferior motives !  Ah,  if  we  could  but  discern  what 
is  the  right  way  and  the  highest  way  ! 

These  doubts  which  beset  men  upon  many  of  the 
greatest  matters,  are  the  direct  result  of  the  lies  and 
falsification  of  our  predecessors.  Sometimes  when 
we  look  at  the  frightful  errors  which  metaphorical 
expressions  may  have  introduced,  I  do  not  wonder 
that  Plato  spoke  in  the  hardest  manner  of  Poets. 
But  man  cannot  narrate  without  metaphors,  so 
much  more  does  he  see  in  every  transaction  than 
the  bare  circumstances. 

When  I  was  at  Mihxn  and  saw  the  glory  of  that 
town,  the  Last  Supper,  by  Leonardo  da  Vinci,  I 
could  not  help  thinking,  as  my  way  is,  many  things 


COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE.  23 

not,  perhaps,  very  closely  connected  with  that  grand 
work,  but  which  it  suggested  to  my  mind.  At 
first  you  may  be  disappointed  in  finding  the  figures 
so  much  faded,  but  soon,  with  patient  looking, 
much  comes  into  view  ;  and  after  marvelling  at  the 
inexpressible  beauty  which  still  remains,  you  find 
to  your  astonishment  that  no  picture,  no  print,  per- 
haps no  description,  has  adequately  represented 
what  you  can  still  trace  in  this  work.  Not  only 
has  it  not  been  represented,  but  it  has  been  utterly 
misrei^resented.  The  copyist  thought  he  could  tell 
the  story  better  than  the  painter,  and  where  the 
outlines  are  dim,  was  not  content  to  leave  them  so, 
but  must  insert  something  of  his  own  which  is 
clearly  wrong.  This,  I  thought,  is  the  way  of  most 
translation,  and  I  might  add,  of  most  portrait  paint- 
ing and  nearly  all  criticism.  And  it  occurred  to 
me  that  the  written  history  of  the  world  was  very 
like  the  prints  of  this  fresco  ;  namely,  a  clear  ac- 
count, a  good  deal  of  it  utterly  wrong,  of  what  at 
first  hand  is  considerably  obliterated,  and  which, 
except  in  minds  of  the  highest  powers  of  imagina- 
tion, to  be  a  clear  conception  can  hardly  be  a  just 
one. 

And  then,  carrying  my  application  still  further  to 
the  most  important  of  all  histories,  I  thought  hov.- 


24  COMPANIONS   OF  MT  SOLITUDE. 

the  simple  majesty  of  the  original  transaction  had 
probably  suffered  a  like  misconception,  from  the 
fading  of  the  material  narrative,  and  still  more  from 
the  weak  inventions  of  those  who  could  not  repre- 
sent accurately,  and  wei"e  impatient  of  any  dimness 
(to  their  eyes)  in  the  divine  original. 

I  often  fancy  how  I  should  like  to  direct  the  in- 
tellectual efforts  of  men  ;  and  if  I  had  the  power, 
how  frequently  I  should  direct  them  to  those  great 
subjects  in  metaphysics  and  theology  which  now 
men  shun. 

What  patient  labor  and  what  intellectual  power 
ai*e  often  bestowed  in  coming  to  a  decision  on  any 
cause  which  involves  much  worldly  property. 
Might  there  not  be  some  great  hearing  of  any  of 
the  intellectual  and  spiritual  difficulties  which  beset 
the  paths  of  all  thoughtful  men  in  the  present  age  ? 

Church  questions,  for  example,  seem  to  require 
a  vast  investigation.  As  it  is,  a  book  or  pamphlet 
is  put  forward  on  one  side,  then  another  on  the 
other  side,  and  somehow  the  opposing  facts  and 
arguments  seldom  come  into  each  other's  presence. 
And  thus  truth  sustains  great  loss. 

My  own  opinion  is,  if  I  can  venture  to  say  that  I 
have  an  opinion,  that  what  we  ought  to  seek  for  is 
a  church  of  the  utmost  width  of  doctrine,  and  with 


COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE.  25 

the  most  beautiful  expression  that  can  be  devised 
for  that  doctrine,  —  the  most  beautiful  expression,  I 
mean,  in  words,  in  deeds,  in  sculpture,  and  in 
sacred  song ;  which  should  have  a  simple,  easy 
grandeur  in  its  proceedings  that  should  please  the 
elevated  and  poetical  mind,  charm  the  poor,  and 
yet  not  lie  open  to  just  cavilling  on  the  part  of  those 
somewhat  hard,  intellectual  worshippers  who  must 
have  a  reason  for  every  thing ;  which  should  have 
vitality  and  growth  in  it ;  and  which  should  attract 
and  not  repel  those  who  love  truth  better  than  any 
creature. 

Pondering  tliese  things  in  the  silence  of  the  downs, 
I  at  last  neared  home  ;  and  found  that  the  result  of 
all  my  thoughts  was  that  any  would-be  teacher  must 
be  contented  and  humble,  or  try  to  be  so,  in  his  ef- 
forts of  any  kind  ;  and  that  if  the  great  questions  can 
hardly  be  determined  by  man  (divided  too  as  he  is 
from  his  brother  in  all  ways)  he  must  still  try  and 
do^what  he  can  on  lower  levels,  hoping  ever  for  more 
insight,  and  looking  forward  to  the  knowledge  which 
may  be  gained  by  death. 


CHAPTER  III. 

'TT^O-DAY,  as  the  weather  was  cold  and  boister- 
ous,  I  could  only  walk  under-shelter  of  the  yew 
hedge  in  my  garden,  which  some  gracious  predeces- 
sor (all  honor  to  him !)  planted  to  keep  off  the  dire 
north-west  winds,  and  which,  I  fear,  unless  he  was 
a  very  hardy  plant  himself,  he  did  not  live  long 
enough  to  profit  much  by.  Being  so  near  home,  my 
thoughts  naturally  took  a  domestic  turn  ;  and  I  vexed 
myself  by  thinking  that  I  had  received  no  letter  from 
my  little  boy.  This  was  owing  to  the  new  post-office 
regulations,  which  did  not  allow  letters  to  go  out  from 
country  places,  or  be  delivered  at  such  places,  on 
a  Sunday.  Oh  those  Borgias,  said  I  to  myself,  how 
much  we  have  to  blame  them  for !  To  be  sure,  I 
know  pretty  well  what  the  letter  would  be. 

"  I  hope  you  are  well  papa  and  I  send  you  my  love 
and  I  have  got  a  kite  and  Uncle  George's  dog  is  very 
fierce.  His  name  is  Nero  which  was  a  Roman  em- 
peror nearly  quite  white  only  he  has  got  two  black 


CO.UPAXIOXS   OF  J/i'  SOLITUDE.  27 

spots  just  over  his  nose  And  I  send  my  love  to  mam- 
ma and  the  children  and  I  am  your  own  little  boy 
and  alTectionate  son, 

"  Leonard  Milvertox." 

Not  a  very  important,  certainly  not  a  very  artistic, 
production  this  letter,  but  still  it  has  its  interest  for 
the  foolish  paternal  mind,  and  I  should  like  to  have 
received  it  to-day.  It  is  greatly  owing  to  those 
Borgias  that  I  have  not  received  this  letter.  Most 
of  my  neighbors  imagine  that  their  little  petitions 
were  the  cause  of  these  post-office  regulations ;  but 
I  beg  to  go  somewhat  further  back,  and  I  come  to 
Pope  Alexander  the  Sixth,  and  lay  a  great  deal  of 
blame  on  him.  The  pendulous  folly  of  mankind 
oscillates  as  far  in  this  direction  as  it  has  come  from 
that;  and  an  absurd  Puritan  is  only  a  correlative  to 
a  wicked  Pope. 

From  such  reflections,  I  fell  to  considering  Puri- 
tanism generally,  and  I  am  afraid  I  came  to  a  difler- 
ent  conclusion  from  that  which  would  liav.e  been 
popular  at  any  of  the  laty  public  meetings;  but  then 
I  console  myself  by  an  aphorism  of  Ellesmere's,  who 
is  wont  to  remark,  "  How  exactly  proportioned  to  a 
man's  ignorance  of  tlie  subject  is  the  noise  he  makes 
about  it  at  a  pul)lic  meeting."     Knowledgj  brings 


28  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

doubts  and  exceptions  and  limitations  which,  though 
occasionally  some  aids  to  truth,  are  all  hindrances 
to  vigorous  statement. 

But  to  go  back  to  what  I  thought  about  Puritan- 
ism ;  for  I  endeavored  to  methodize  my  thoughts, 
and  the  following  is  the  course  they  took. 

What  are  the  objects  of  life,  as  far  as  regards  this 
world  ?  Its  first  wants,  I  answer,  namely,  food  and 
raiment.  What  besides?  Manying  and  the  rearing 
of  children  ;  and,  in  general,  the  cultivation  of  the 
affections.     So  far  Puritans  would  agree  with  us. 

But  suppose  all  these  things  to  be  tempered  with 
gayety  and  festivity  :  what  element  of  wickedness  has 
necessarily  entered  }  None  that  I  can  perceive.  Self- 
indulgence  takes  many  forms  ;  and  we  should  bear 
in  mind  that  there  may  be  a  sullen  sensuality  as  well 
as  a  gay  one. 

But  the  truth  is,  there  is  a  secret  belief  amongst 
some  men  that  God  is  displeased  with  man's  happi- 
ness ;  and  in  consequence  they  slink  about  creation, 
ashamed  and  afraid  to  enjoy  any  thing. 

They  answei",  we  do  not.  object  to  rational  pleas- 
ures. 

But  who,  my  good  people,  shall  exactly  define 
rational  pleasures?  You  arc  pleased  with  a  flower; 
to  cultivate  flowers  is  what  you  call  a  rational  pleas- 


COMI'AXIONS    OF  ^[\'  SOLITCDi:.  29 

urc  :  there  are  people,  however,  to  whom  a  flower  is 
somewhat  insipid,  hut  they  perhaps  dote  upon  music, 
which,  however,  is  unfortunately  not  one  of  your 
rational  pleasures,  —  chiefly,  as  I  believe,  because  it 
is  mainly  a  social  one.  Why  is  there  any  thing  nec- 
essarily wrong  in  social  pleasures?  Certainly  some 
of  the  most  dangerous  vices,  such  as  pride,  are  found 
to  flourish  in  solitude  with  more  vigor  than  in  society  ; 
and  a  man  may  be  deadly  avaricious  who  has  never 
even  gone  out  to  a  tea-party. 

Once  I  happened  to  overhear  a  dialogue  some- 
what similar  to  that  which  Charles  Lamb,  perhaps, 
only  feigned  to  hear.  I  was  travelling  in  a  railway- 
carriage  with  a  most  precise  looking,  formal  person, 
the  Arch-Qiiaker,  if  there  be  such  a  person.  His 
countenance  was  very  noble,  or  had  been  so,  before 
it  was  frozen  up.  He  said  nothing;  I  felt  a  great 
respect  for  him.  At  last  his  mouth  opened.  I  lis- 
tened with  attention  ;  I  had  hitherto  lived  with 
foolish,  gad-about,  dinner-eating,  dancing  people  ; 
now  I  was  going  to  hear  the  words  of  retired  wisdom  ; 
when  he  thus  addressed  his  young  daughter  sitting 
opposite,  "  Hast  thee  heard  how  Soiithamptons  went 
lately.?"  (in  those  days  South-westerii  Railway 
shares  were  called  Southamptons)  ;  and  she  replied 
with  like  gravity,  giving  him  some  information  that 


30  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

she  had  picked  up  about  Southamptons  yesterday 
evennig. 

I  leant  back  rather  sickened  as  I  thought  what 
was  probably  the  daily  talk  and  the  daily  thoughts 
in  that  famil}',  from  which  I  conjectured  all  amuse- 
ment was  banished  save  that  connected  with  intense 
money  getting. 

Well,  but,  exclaims  the  advocate  of  Puritanism, 
I  do  not  admit  that  my  clients,  on  abjuring  the 
pleasures  of  this  world,  fall  into  pride,  or  sullen 
sensuality,  or  intense  money  getting.  They  only 
secure  to  themselves  more  time  for  works  of  charity 
and  for  the  love  of  God. 

You  are  an  adroit  advocate,  and  are  careful,  by 
not  pushing  your  case  too  far,  to  give  me  the  least 
possible  room  for  reply.  They  secure  to  themselves 
more  time  for  these  good  works  you  say.  Do  they 
do  them?  But  the  truth  is,  in  order  to  meet  your 
remark  and  to  extract  the  good  there  is  in  it,  I  must 
begin  by  saying  that  Puritanism,  as  far  as  it  is  an 
abnegation  of  self,  is  good,  or  may  be  so.  But  this 
is  most  surely  the  case,  when  it  turns  its  sufferings 
and  privations  to  utility.  It  has  always  appeared 
to  me  tliat  there  is  so  much  to  be  done  in  this  world, 
that    all    self-inflicted    suffering   wliich    caimot    be 


COMPAMOXS    OF  MY  SOLITUDE.  31 

turned  to  good  account  for  others,  is  a  loss,  —  a  loss, 
if  you  may  so  express  it,  to  tlie  spiritual  world. 

The  Puritanism  which  I  object  to  is  that  which 
avoids  some  pleasure,  and  exhausts  in  injurious 
comment  and  attack  upon  other  people  any  leisure 
and  force  of  mind  which  it  may  have  gained  by  its 
abstinence  from  the  pleasure. 

I  can  understand  and  sympathize  with  the  man 
who  says,  "  I  enjoy  festivity,  but  I  cannot  go  to  the 
feast  I  am  bidden  to,  to-night,  for  there  are  sick 
people  who  must  be  first  attended  to."  But  I  do 
not  love  the  man  who  stays  away  from  the  feast  and 
employs  his  leisure  in  delivering  a  sour  discourse  on 
the  wickedness  of  the  others  who  are  invited  to  the 
feast,  and  who  go  to  it. 

Moreover,  this  censoriousncss  is  not  only  a  sin, 
but  the  inventor  of  many  sins.  Indeed  the  manu- 
facture of  sins  is  so  easy  a  manufacture,  that  I  am 
convinced  man  could  readily  be  persuaded  that  it 
was  wicked  to  use  the  left  leg  as  much  as  the  riglit ; 
whole  congregations  would  only  permit  themselves 
to  hop  ;  and,  what  is  more  to  our  present  point, 
woultl  consider  that  when  they  walked  in  the  ortli- 
nary  fashion  tliey  were  coinmitting  a  deadly  sin. 
Now,  I  shouUl  not  think  tliat  the  man  who  were  to 
invent  this  sin  would  be  a  benefactor  to  the  human 
race. 


32  COMPANIONS    OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

You  often  hear  in  a  town,  or  village,  a  bit  of  do- 
mestic history,  which  seems  at  first  to  militate 
against  what  I  have  been  saying,  but  is  in  reality 
veiy  consistent  with  it.  The  story  is  of  some  poor 
man,  and  is  apt  to  run  thus  :  He  began  to  frequent 
the  ale-house ;  he  sought  out  amusements ;  there 
was  a  neighboring  fair  where  he  first  showed  his 
quarrelsome  disposition  ;  then  came  worse  things ; 
and  now  here  he  is  in  prison.  Yes,  I  should  repl}', 
he  frequented,  with  a  stealthy  shame,  those  places 
which  you,  who  would  ignore  all  amusement,  have 
suffered  to  be  most  coarse  and  demoralizing.  All 
along  he  had  an  exaggerated  notion  of  the  blame 
that  he  was  justly  liable  to  from  his  first  steps  in  the 
downward  path  ;  the  truth  unfortunately  is,  that  you 
go  a  long  way  to  make  a  small  error  into  a  sin,  when 
you  miscall  it  so.  I  would  not,  therefore,  have  a 
clergyman  talk  of  the  ale-house  as  if  it  were  the  pit 
of  Acheron.  On  the  contrary,  I  would  have  him 
acknowledge  that,  considering  the  warmth  and 
cheerfulness  to  be  found  in  the  sanded  parlor  of  the 
village  inn,  it  is  very  natural  that  men  should  be  apt 
to  frequent  it.  I  would  have  him,  however,  go  on  to 
show  what  frequenting  the  ale-house  mostly  leads 
to,  and  how  the  laborer's  home  might  be  made  to 
rival  the  ale-house  ;  and  I  would  have  him  help  to 


COMPANlOXi:    or  MV  SOLITUDE.  33 

make  it  so,  or,  in  some  way,  to  provide  some  sub- 
stitute for  the  alc-liousc. 

The  evils  of  competition  are  very  considerable, 
and  many  people  in  these  times  hold  up  competition 
as  the  great  monster  evil  of  the  age.  I  do  not  know 
how  that  may  be  ;  but  I  am  sure  that  the  competition 
there  is  in  the  way  of  puritanical  demonstration  is 
very  injurious  to  sincerity.  This  competition  is  the 
child  of  fear.  A.  is  afraid  that  his  neighbor  R.  will 
not  think  well  of  him,  because  he  (A.)  docs  or  per- 
mits something  which  C,  another  neighbor,  will  not 
allow  in  his  house.  Surely  this  is  little  else  than 
mere  man-worship.  It  puts  one  in  mind  of  the 
story  of  that  congregation  of  the  Church  of  England, 
who  begged  their  clergyman  to  give  them  longer 
sermons, — not  that  they  were  fond  of  long  dis- 
courses,—  but  that  they  might  not  always  be  out  of 
church  before  some  neighboring  congregation  of 
Weslevans  or  Independents. 

Returning  to  the  imaginary  advocate  for  Puritan- 
ism \\\\o  saiil  that  it  secured  more  time  for  works  of 
charitv  and  for  the  love  of  God. 

I  do  not  know  whether  otlier  people's  obsen-ation 
will  tally  witli  mine  ;  but,  as  far  as  I  have  observed, 
it  appears  to  me  that  charity  requires  the  sternest 
labor  and  the  most  anxious  thought ;  that,  in  short, 


34  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE, 

it  is  one  of  the  most  difficult  things  in  the  world,  and 
is  not  altogether  a  matter  for  leisure  hours.  This  re- 
mark applies  to  the  more  serious  functions  of  charity. 
But,  we  must  remember,  that  the  whole  of  charity  is 
not  comprised  in  carrying  about  gifts  to  one  another, 
or,  to  speak  more  generally,  in  remedying  the  mate- 
rial evils  suffered  by  those  around  us,  else  life  would 
indeed  be  a  dreary  affair ;  but  there  are  exquisite 
little  charities  to  be  performed  in  reference  to  social 
pleasures. 

Then,  as  to  the  love  of  God,  I  do  not  venture  to 
say  much  upon  so  solemn  a  theme  ;  but  it  does  oc- 
cur to  me  that  we  should  talk  and  think  very  humbly 
about  our  capacity  in  matters  so  much  above  us.  At 
any  rate,  I  do  not  see  why  the  love  of  God  should 
withdraw  vis  largely  from  our  fellow-man.  That  love 
we  believe  was  greatest  in  Him  who  graced  with 
His  presence  the  marriage  feast  at  Cana  in  Galilee  ; 
who  was  never  known  to  shun  or  ignore  the  exist- 
ence of  the  vicious  ;  and  to  whom,  more  than  to  all 
other  teachers,  the  hypocrite  seems  to  have  been 
particularly  odious. 

But  there  is  another  very  important  consideration 
to  be  weighed  by  those  who  are  fearful  of  encourag- 
ing amusements,  especially  amongst  their  poorer 
brethren.  What  are  the  generality  of  people  to  do,  or 


coMPAXfoxs  OF  ^fy  soijtudk.  35 

to  think  of,  for  a  considerable  portion  of  each  day,  if 
they  are  not  allowed  to  busy  themselves  with  some 
form  of  recreation  ?  Here  is  this  infinite  creature, 
man,  who  looks  before  and  after,  whose  swiftness  of 
thought  is  such,  even  among  the  dullest  of  the  species, 
as  would  perhaps  astonish  the  brightest,  who  are  apt 
to  imagine  that  none  think  but  themselves  ;  and  you 
fancy  that  he  can  be  quite  contented  with  providing 
warmth  and  food  for  himself  and  those  he  has  to  love 
and  cherish.  Food  and  warmth  !  Content  witli  that  1 
Not  he :  and  we  should  greatly  despise  him  if  he 
could  be.  Why  is  it  that  in  all  ages  small  towns  and 
remote  villages  have  fostered  little  malignities  of  all 
kinds?  The  true  answer  is,  that  people  will  back- 
bite one  another  to  any  extent  rather  than  not  be 
amused.  Nay,  so  strong  is  this  desire  for  something 
to  go  on  that  may  break  the  monotony  of  life,  that 
people,  not  othervv'isc  ill-natured,  are  pleased  with 
the  misfortune  of  their  neighbors,  solely  because  it 
gives  something  to  think  of,  something  to  talk  about. 
They  imagine  how  the  principal  actors  and  sufferers 
concerned  in  the  misfortune  will  bear  it ;  what  they 
will  do  ;  how  they  will  look  ;  and  so  the  dull  by- 
stander forms  a  sort  of  drama  for  himself.  lie  would, 
perhaps,  be  told  that  it  is  wicked  for  him  to  go  to 
such  an  entertainment :  lie  makes  one  out  for  him- 
self, not  always  innocently. 


36  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

You  hear  clergymen  in  country  parishes  denounc- 
ing the  ill-nature  of  their  parishioners  :  it  is  in  vain  : 
the  better  sort  of  men  try  to  act  up  to  what  they  are 
told,  but  really  it  is  so  dull  in  the  parish  that  a  bit  of 
scandal  is  welcome  to  the  heart.  These  poor  people 
have  nothing  to  think  about ;  nature  shows  them 
comparatively  little,  for  art  and  science  have  not 
taught  them  to  look  behind  the  scenes,  or  even  at  the 
scenes;  literature  they  know  nothing  of ;  they  can- 
not have  gossip  about  the  men  of  the  past  (which  is 
the  most  innocent  kind  of  gossip),  in  other  words, 
read  and  discuss  history  ;  they  have  no  delicate  handi- 
work to  amuse  them  ;  in  short,  talk  they  must,  and 
talk  they  will,  about  their  neighbors,  whose  goings 
on  are  a  perpetual  puppet-show  to  them. 

But,  to  speak  more  gravely,  man,  even  the  most 
sluggish-minded  man,  craves  amusement  of  some 
kind  ;  and  his  wiser  and  more  powerful  brethren 
will  sliow  their  wisdom,  or  theii  want  oi  it,  m  Itie 
amusements  they  contrive  for  him. 

We  need  not  be  atraid  tliat  m  England  any  art  or 
innocent  amusement  will  be  cultivated  too  much. 
The  genius  of  the  people,  though  kindly,  is  severe. 
And  that  is  why  there  is  so  much  less  danger  of  their 
being  injured,  if  any  one  is,  by  recreation.  Cyrus 
kept  the  Lydians  tame,  we  are  told,  by  allowing  them 
to  cultivate  music  ;  the  Greeks  were  perhaps  pre- 


COMPANIOXfy    or  MY  SOLITUDE.  37 

ventotl  fr  m  becoming  dominant  bv  a  cultivation  of 
many  arts  ;  but  the  Anglo-Saxons,  like  the  Romans, 
can  afibrd  to  cultivate  art  and  recreations  of  all  kinds. 
Such  pursuits  will  not  tame  them  too  much.  To 
contend,  occasionally,  against  the  bent  of  the  genius, 
or  the  circumstances  of  a  people,  is  one  of  the  great 
arts  of  statesmanship.  The  same  thing  which  is  to  be 
dreaded  in  one  place  is  to  be  cultivated  in  another  ; 
here  a  poison,  tliere  an  antiilote. 

The  above  is  what  I  thouglit  in  reference  to  Puri- 
tanism during  my  walk  this  evening:  then,  by  a 
not  uneasy  diversion  of  mind,  I  turned  to  another 
branch  of  small  persecutions,  —  small  do  I  call  them  ? 
perhaps  they  are  the  greatest  that  are  endured,  cer- 
tainly the  most  vexatious.  I  mean  all  that  is  per- 
petuated by  the  tyranny  of  the  weak. 

This  is  a  most  fertile  subject,  and  has  been  nearly 
neglected.  Weak  is  a  relative  term  :  whenever  two 
people  meet,  one  is  comparatively  weak  and  the 
other  strong ;  the  relation  between  them  is  often 
supposed  to  imply  this.  Taking  society  in  general, 
there  is  a  certain  weakness  of  the  kind  I  mean, 
attributable  to  the  sick,  the  spoilt,  the  ill-tempered, 
the  unfortunate,  the  aged,  women,  and  the  clergy. 
Now  I  venture  to  say,  there  is  no  obsenant  man  of 
the  world  who  has  lived  to  the  age  of  thirty  who 
has  not  seen  numeious  instances  of  severe  tyranny 


38  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

exercised  by  persons  belonging  to  one  or  other  of 
these  classes  5  and  which  tyranny  has  been  estab- 
lished, continued,  and  endured,  solely  by  reason  of 
the  weakness,  real  or  supposed,  of  the  persons  ex- 
ei'cising  it.  Talking  once  with  a  thoughtful  man 
on  this  subject,  he  reitfarked  to  me,  that,  of  course, 
the  generous  suflered  much  from  the  tyranny  I  was 
speaking  of,  as  the  strength  of  it  was  drawn  from 
their  strength.  It  might  be  compared  to  an  evil 
government  of  a  rich  people,  in  which  their  riches 
furnished  forth  abundant  armies  wherewith  to  op- 
press the  subject. 

In  quiet  times  this  tyranny  is  very  great.  I  have 
often  thought  whether  it  was  not  one  very  consider- 
able compensation  for  rude  hard  times,  or  times  of 
dire  alarm,  that  domestic  tyranny  was  then  probably 
less  severe  :  and  among  the  various  forms  of  domes- 
tic tyranny,  none  occupies  a  more  distinguished 
place  than  this  of  the  tyranny  of  the  weak  over  the 
strong. 

If  you  come  to  analyze  it,  it  is  a  tyranny  exercised 
by  playing  upon  the  good-nature,  the  fear  of  respon- 
sibility, the  dread  of  acting  selfishly,  the  horror  of 
giving  pain,  prevalent  among  good  and  kind  people. 
They  often  know  that  it  is  a  tremendous  tyranny 
they  are  suffering  under,  and  they  do  not  feel  it  the 
less  because  they  are  consenting  parties. 


COMPANIOSS    OF  AfV  SOLITUDi:.  39 

Meditating  sometimes  upon  the  results  of  this 
tyranny,  I  have  thought  to  myself,  what  is  to  stop 
it?  In  a  state  of  further  developed  Christianity, 
vmless,  indeed,  it  were  equally  developed  in  all 
minds,  there  may  be  only  more  room  for  this  tyr- 
anny. And  then  this  strange,  but  perhaps  just 
idea  came  into  my  mind,  that  this  tyranny  would 
fall  away  in  a  state  of  clearer  knowledge  such  as 
might  accompany  aiuUher  state  of  l)eing;  for  then, 
the  secrets  of  men's  hearts  not  being  profoundly 
concealed  by  silence,  or  by  speech,  it  would  be 
seen  what  the  sullerers  thought  of  these  tyrannous 
proceedings ;  and  the  tyrants  would  shrink  back, 
abashed  at  the  enormity  of  their  requisitions,  made 
visible  in  the  clear  mirror  of  another's  mind. 

A  common  form  of  this  tyranny  is  where  the  ty- 
rant uses  a  name  of  great  potency,  sucli  as  that  of 
some  relationship,  and  having  performed  few  or 
none  of  the  duties,  exacts  from  the  other  side  a  most 
oppressive  tribute,  —  oppressive,  even  if  the  duties 
had  been  performed. 

There  is  one  rcascjn  for  putting  a  limit  to  tlic  sub- 
sci'\iency  of  the  strong  to  the  weak,  which  reason, 
if  fully  developed,  might  do  more  at  times  to  pro- 
tect the  strong  from  the  weak  tlian  any  thing  I 
know.     Surely  the  most  foolish  strong  person  must 


40  COMPANIOXS    OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

occasionally  have  glimpses  that  he  or  she  cannot 
sacrifice  himself  or  herself  alone :  that,  in  dealing 
with  another  person,  you  are  in  some  measure  rep- 
resenting the  outer  world  ;  and  ought  (to  use  an 
ofiicial  phrase)  to  govern  yourself  accordingly.  We 
see  this  in  managing  children  :  and  the  most  weakly 
indulgent  people  find  that  they  must  make  a  stop 
somewhere  ;  with  some  perception,  it  is  to  be  hoped, 
that  the  world  will  not  go  on  dealing  with  the  chil- 
dren as  they  (the  indulgent  persons)  are  doing; 
and,  therefore,  that  they  are  preparing  mischief  and 
discomfort  on  one  side  or  the  other  for  parties  who 
are  necessarily  to  be  brought  in  contact. 

The  soft  mud  carried  away  by  the  encroaching 
sea  cannot  say,  — ''  I,  the  soft  mud,  am  to  be  the 
only  victim  to  tliis  element;  and  after  I  am  gone  it 
will  no  more  encroach."  No,  it  means  to  devour 
the  whole  land  If  it  can. 

Ah,  thought  I  to  myself,  how  important  are  such 
considerations  as  those  I  have  had  to-day,  if  we 
could  but  rightly  direct  them  ;  how  much  of  tlie 
health  and  wealth  of  the  world  depend  upon  them  !• 
Even  in  those  periods  when  "  laws  or  kings"  could 
do  predominant  good  or  predominant  ill,  the  mis- 
cries  of  private  life  perhaps  outweighed  the  rest , 


COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLfTDDK.  4I 

but  now,  as  civilization  advances,  the  tendency  is 
to  some  little  ainclioiation  of  great  political  dan- 
gers ;  while,  at  the  same  time,  from  more  refine- 
ment, more  intricacy  of  atiairs,  more  nervous  devel- 
opment, more  pretence  of  goodness,  more  resolve 
to  have  every  thing  quite  neat  and  smooth  and 
safe,  the  miseries  which  the  generality  of  men  make 
for  themselves  do  not  tend  to  decrease,  unless  kept 
down  by  a  continual  growth  of  wise  and  good 
thoughts  and  just  habits  of  mind. 

When  we  talk  of 

•'The  ills  that  laws  or  kings  can  cause  or  cure," 
our  thoughts  refer  only  to  the  functions  of  direct  and 
open  government;  but^thc  laws  which  regulate  the 
intercourse  of  society,  public  opinion,  and,  in  short, 
that  almost  impalpable  code  of  thought  and  action 
which  grows  up  in  a  very  easy  fashion  between  man 
and  man,  and  is  clothed  with  none  of  the  ordinary 
dress  of  power,  may  yet  be  the  subtlest  and  often 
the  sternest  despotism. 

It  is  a  strange  fancy  of  mine,  but  I  cannot  help 
wishing  we  could  "  move  for  returns,"  as  their  phrase 
is  in  Parliament,  of  the  sufiering  caused  in  any  one 
day,  or  other  period  of  time,  throughout  the  world, 
to  be  arranged  under  certain  heads ;  and  we  should 
then  see  what  the  world  has  occasion  to  fear  most. 


42 


COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 


What  a  large  amount  would  come  under  the  heads 
of  unreasonable  fear  of  others,  of  miserable  quarrels 
amongst  relations  upon  infinitesimally  small  sub- 
jects, of  imaginary  slights,  of  undue  cares,  of  false 
shames,  of  absolute  misunderstandings,  of  unneces- 
sary pains  to  maintain  credit  or  reputation,  of  vex- 
ation that  we  cannot  make  others  of  the  same  mind 
with  ourselves  !  -  What  a  wonderful  thing  it  would 
be  to  see  set  down  in  figures,  as  it  were,  how  ingen- 
ious we  are  in  plaguing  one  another  !  My  own  pri- 
vate opinion  is,  that  the  discomfort  caused  by 
injudicious  dress,  worn  entirely  in  deference,  as  it 
has  before  been  remarked,  to  the  most  foolish  of 
mankind,  in  fact  to  the  tyrannous  majority,  would 
outweigh  many  an  evil  that  sounds  very  big. 

Tested  by  these  perfect  returns,  which  I  imagine 
might  be  made  by  the  angelic  world,  if  they  regard 
human  affairs,  perhaps  our  every-day  shaving,  severe 
shirt  collars,  and  other  ridiculous  garments,  are 
equivalent  to  a  great  European  war  once*  in  seven 
years ;  and  we  should  find  that  women's  stays  did 
about  as  much  harm,  i.  e.,  caused  as  much  suffering, 
as  an  occasional  pestilence, —  say,  for  instance,  the 
cholera.  We  should  find  perhaps  that  the  vexations 
arising  from  the  income-tax  were  nearly  equal  to 
those  caused  amongst  the  same  class  of  suftercrs  by 


co^rpAXioys  of  my  solitude.  43 

the  ill-natured  things  men  fancy  have  been  said  be- 
hind their  backs ;  and  perhaps  the  whole  burden 
and  vexation  resulting  from  the  aggregate  of  the 
respective  national  debts  of  that  unthrifty  f:amily, 
the  European  race, —  the  whole  burden  and  vexa- 
tion, I  say,  do  not  come  up  to  the  aggregate  of 
annoyances  inflicted  in  each  locality  by  the  one  ill- 
natured  person  who  generally  infests  each  little 
village,  parish,  house,  or  community. 

There  is  no  knowing  what  strange  comparisons 
and  discoveries  I  should  in  my  fancy  have  been  led 
to, —  perhaps  that  the  love,  said  to  be  inherent  in 
the  softer  sex,  of  having  the  last  word,  causes  as 
much  mischief  as  all  the  tornadoes  of  the  Troi:)ics  ; 
or  that  the  vexation  inflicted  by  sei-vants  on  their 
masters  by  assuring  them  that  such  and  such  duties 
do  not  belong  to  their  place,  is  equivalent  to  all  the 
sulTerings  that  have  been  caused  by  mad  dogs  since 
the  world  began.  But  my  meditations  were  sud- 
denly interrupted  and  put  to  flight  by  a  noise,  which, 
in  describing  afterwards  in  somewhat  high-flown 
terms,  I  said  caused  a  dismay  like  tliat  which  would 
have  been  felt  if,  neglectful  of  the  proper  periods  in 
history,  the  Iluns,  the  Vandals,  and  the  Visigoths, 
in  fact  the  unruly  population  of  the  world,  had 
combined  together  and  rushed  down  upon  some 
quiet,  orderly  cathedral  town. 


44  COMPANIONS    OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

In  short,  the  children  of  my  neighbors  returning 
from  school  had  dashed  into  my  field,  their  main 
desire  being  to  behold  an  arranged  heap  of  stones 
and  brick-bats,  which,  after  being  diligently  informed 
of  the  fact  several  times  by  my  son  Leonard,  I  had 
learnt  was  a  house  he  had  lately  built. 

There  is  a  sort  of  freemasonry  among  children  ; 
for  these  knew  at  once  that  this  heap  of  stones  w^as 
a  house,  and  danced  round  it  with  delight  as  a  great 
work  of  art.  Now,  do  you  suppose,  to  come  back  to 
the  original  subject  of  my  meditations  to-day,  that 
the  grown-up  child  does  not  want  amusement,  when 
you  see  how  greedy  children  are  of  it?  Do  not 
imagine  we  grow  out  of  that ;  we  disguise  ourselves 
by  various  solemnities  ;  but  we  have  none  of  us  lost 
the  child-nature  yet. 

I  was  glad  to  see  how  merry  the  children  could 
be,  though  looking  so  blue  and  cold,  and  still  more 
pleased  to  find  that  my  presence  did  not  scare  them 
away,  and  that  they  have  no  grown-up  fbeling  as 
yet  alDOut  trespassing :  I  fled,  however,  from  the 
noise  into  more  quiet  quarters,  and  broke  up  the 
train  of  reflections  of  which  I  now  give  tliese  out- 
lines, hoping  they  may  be  of  use  to  some  one. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

IV /FUCII  retrospect  is  not  a  very  safe  or  a  very 
■^  ' -^  wise  thing  :  still  there  are  times  when  a  man 
may  do  well  to  look  back  upon  his  past  life,  and 
endeavor  to  take  a  comprehensive  view  of  it.  And 
whether  such  retrospect  is  wise  or  not,  it  cannot  be 
avoided,  as  our  reveries  must  sometimes  turn  upon 
that  one  life,  our  own,  respecting  which  we  have  a 
great  number  of  facts  very  interesting  to  us,  and 
tlioroughly  within  our  ken.  The  process  is  curiously 
dillercnt  from  that  pursued  by  Alnaschar  in  the 
Arabian  A'/if//fs,  who  with  an  imaginary  spurn, 
alas,  too  well  interpreted  by  a  real  gesture,  disposed 
at  once  of  all  his  splendid  fortunes  gained  in  reverie. 
In  this  progress  of  retrospection  many  find  that  the 
spurn  is  real  as  well  as  the  fatal  gesture  which  real- 
ized it,  only  both  have  been  administered  by  the  rude 
world  instead  of  by  themselves ;  the  fragments  of 
their  broken  pottery  lie  around  them  ;  and,  going 
Iiack  to  fouil  memories  of  the  past,  they  have  to 
reconstruct  the  original  reverie, —  the  dream  of  their 
youth  —  the  proud  purpose  of  their  manhood — how 
fulliUed  ! 


46  COMPANIONS    OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

Walking  up  and  down  amidst  the  young  fir-trees 
in  the  little  plantation  to  the  north-east  of  the  garden, 
and,  occasionally,  with  all  the  interest  of  a  young 
planter,  stopping  in  front  of  a  particular  tree,  and 
inspecting  this  year's  growth,  I  got  into  such  a  train 
of  retrospect  as  I  have  just  spoken  of;  and  from 
that,  by  a  process  which  will  be  visible  to  the 
reader,  was  soon  led  into  thoughts  about  the  future. 

I  pictured  to  myself  a  descendant  of  mine,  a  man 
of  dilapidated  fortune,  but  still  owning  this  house 
and  garden.  The  few  adjoining  fields  he  will  long 
ago  have  parted  with.  But  he  loves  the  place,  hav- 
ing been  brought  up  here  by  his  sad,  gentle  mother, 
and  having  lived  here  with  his  young  sister,  then  a 
rapturous  imaginative  girl,  his  companion  and 
delight.  Through  the  smallness  of  their  fortune, 
and  consequently  the  narrow  circle  of  their  acquaint- 
ances, she  will  have  man^ied  a  man  totally  unfit  for 
her ;  the  romance  of  her  nature  has  turned  some- 
what sour ;  and,  though  occasionally  high-minded, 
she  is  very  peevish  now,  and  is  no  longer  the  com- 
panion that  she  was  to  her  brother.  He  just  remem- 
bers his  father  pacing  with  disturbed  step  under 
these  trees  which  I  am  now  walking  about.  He 
recollects  before  his  fatlier's  death,  how  eagerly  the 
fond  wife  used  to  waylay  and  open  large  packets, 


CO.UPAMOXS    OF  Ml'  SOLITUDE.  47 

whicli  she  would  not  always  bring  to  the  dying 
man's  bed.  lie  now  knows  them  to  have  been  law 
jKipeis ;  and  when  he  thinks  of  these  things,  he 
utters  harsh  words  about  the  iniquity  of  the  law  in 
I'2ngland  ;  and  says  something  about  law  growing 
in  upon  a  fallen  estate  like  fungus  upon  old  and 
failing  wood. 

These  things  are  now  long  past :  they  occurred  in 
his  childhood.  His  mother  is  dead,  and  lies  in  that 
quiet  churchyard  in  the  wood,  where,  if  I  mistake 
not,  one  of'his  ancestors  will  also  have  foimd  a 
peaceful  resting-place.  The  house  has  fully  par- 
taken of  the  falling  fortunes  of  its  successive  owners. 
The  furniture  is  too  old  and  worn  for  any  new 
comer  to  be  temi:)ted  to  occupy  the  house  ;  and  the 
little  garden  is  let  to  a  market-gardener.  Strawber- 
ries will  grow  then  on  the  turf  where  I  am  now 
walking,  and  which  John,  after  mowing  it  twice  in 
the  week,  and  having  spent  all  his  time  in  its  vicin- 
ity, from  working-day  morning  till  working-day 
night,  comes  to  look  at  on  a  Sunday,  and,  with  his 
hands  in  his  pockets  and  himself  arrayed  in  a  waist- 
coat too  bright  almost  to  behold,  surveys  intently, 
as  if  it  were  one  of  the  greatest  products  of  human 
invention.  And  John  need  not  be  ashamed  of  this 
single-minded  delight  in  his  work,  for,  though   it  is 


48  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

nothing  i-emarkable  in  England,  the  whole  conti- 
nent of  Europe  does  not  probably  afford  such  a 
well-shaven  bit  of  grass ;  and,  as  for  our  love  of 
gardens,  it  is  the  last  refuge  of  art  in  the  minds  and 
souls  of  many  Englishmen ;  if  we  did  not  care  for 
gardens,  I  hardly  know  what  in  the  way  of  beauty 
we  should  care  for.  Well,  this  has  all  ceased  by 
that  time  to  be  pleasure-garden,  and  I  fear  to  think 
of  the  pi"ofane  cabbages  which  will  then  occupy 
this  trim  velvety  little  spot.  I  hope  that  poor  John, 
from  some  distant  place,  will  not  behold  the  pro- 
fanation. 

I  have  lingered  on  these  details ;  but  I  must  now 
bring  my  distant  descendant  nearer  to  us.  He  will 
live  in  some  large  town,  getting  his  bread  in  a 
humble  way,  and  will  sometimes  steal  down  here, 
pretending  to  want  to  know  whether  anybody  has 
applied  to  take  the  tumble-down  place.  This  is 
what  he  says  to  his  wife  (for,  of  course,  being  so 
poor,  this  foolish  Milverton  has  married),  but  she 
understands  him  better  than  to  be  deceived  by  that. 

He  has  just  made  one  of  these  excursions,  having, 
for  economy's  sake  and  a  wish  to  avoid  the  neigh- 
bors, got  out  at  a  station  ten  miles  off  (our  cathedral 
town),  and  walked  over  to  his  house.  It  is  evening, 
and  he  has  just  arrived.     Tired  as  he  is,  he  takes  a 


CO}rPAXIOXS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE.  49 

turn  round  the  garden,  antl  after  a  loni^-drawn  sigh, 
wliich  I  know  \vell  the  words  for,  he  enters  the 
house.  The  market-gardener  lives  in  it,  and  his 
wife  takes  care  of  tlie  master's  rooms.  She  has 
lighted  a  lire:  the  smoke  hardly  ascends,  but  still 
there  is  warmth  enough  to  call  out  much  of  the 
latent  dampness  of  the  apartment.  The  things  about 
him  are  somewhat  cheerless  certainly,  but  he  would 
not  wish  them  to  be  o.therwise.  Thgy  would  lie 
very  inharmonious  if  they  were.  During  his  meagre 
supper  he  is  entertained  with  an  account  of  the 
repairs  that  must  be  looked  to.  The  water  comes 
in  here,  and  part  of  the  wall  has  fallen  down  there  ; 
and  farmer  Smith  says  (the  coarse  woman  need  not 
have  repeated  the  very  words)  that  if  Mr.  Milvcrtoa 
is  too  poor  to  mend  his  own  fence,  he,  farmer 
Smith,  must  do  it  himself.  Patiently  the  poor  man 
appears  to  attend  to  all  this,  but  is  thinking  all  the 
while  of  his  pale  mother,  and  of  his  wondering,  as 
a  child,  why  she  never  used  to  look  up  when  horse 
or  man  went  by,  as  she  sat  working  at  that  bay 
window,  and  getting  his  clothes  ready  for  school. 

At  last  the  market-gardener's  wife,  little  attended 
to,  bounces  out  of  the  room  ;  and  her  abrupt  departure 
rouses  my  distant  descendant  to  tliink  of  ways  and 
means.     Ami  liere  I  cannot  help,  as  if  I  were  present 


50  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

at  the  reverie,  breaking  in  and  saying,  "Do  not  cut 
down  that  yew-tree  in  the  back  garden,  the  stately 
well-grown  one  which  was  an  ancient  tree  in  my 
time."  But  no,  upon  second  thoughts,  I  will  say 
nothing  of  the  kind.  "  Cut  it  down,  cut  them  all 
down,  dear  distant  descendant,  rather  than  let  little 
tradesmen  want  their  money,  or  do  the  least  dis- 
honorable thing." 

Apparently  the  present  question  of  ways  and  means 
is  settled  somehow,  for  he  rises  and  paces  about  the 
room.  In  a  corner  there  lies  an  aged  Parliamentary 
report,  a  remnant  from  my  old  library,  the  bulk  of 
which  has  long  been  sold.  It  is  the  report  of  a  Select 
Committee  upon  the  effect  on  prices  of  the  influx  of 
Californian  gold.  There  are  some  side-notes  which 
he  takes  to  have  been  mine  ;  and  this  makes  him 
think  of  me — not  very  kindly.  These  are  his 
thoughts :  This  ancestor  of  mine,  I  see  he  busied 
himself  about  many  worldly  things ;  it  is  not  likely 
that,  taking  an  interest  in  such  affairs,  he  would  not 
have  cared  to  have  some  hand  in  managing  them  ; 
I  conjecture  that  indeed,  if  only  from  one  saying  of 
his,  that  the  bustle  of  life,  if  good  for  little  else,  at 
least  keeps  some  sadness  down  at  the  bottom  of  the 
heart ;  and  yet  I  do  not  fnul  that  our  estate  prospered 


CO.UPAyJOXS    OF  J/1'  SOLITUDE.  51 

much  under  him.  He  might  now,  if  he  had  been  a 
prosperous  gentleman,  have  bought  some  part  of 
Woodcot  chase  (which  was  sold  in  his  time  and  is 
now  all  building-ground),  and  I  should  not  have 
been  in  this  cui'sed  plight. 

"Distant  descendant,  do  not  let  misfortune  make 
you,  as  it  so  often  docs  make  men,  ungenerous." 

lie  feels  this  and  resumes.  I  wonder  why  he  did 
not  become  rich  and  great.  I  suspect  he  was  veiy 
laborious.  ("  You  do  me  full  justice  there.")  I  sup- 
pose he  was  very  versatile,  and  did  not  keep  to  one 
thing  at  a  time.  ("  You  do  me  injustice  there  ;  for  I 
was  always  aware  how  much  men  must  limit  their 
cllbrts  to  eflect  any  thing.")  In  his  books  he  some- 
times makes  shrewd  worldly  remarks  which  show  he 
understood  something  of  the  world,  and  he  ought  to 
have  mastered  it. 

"Now,  my  dear  young  relative,  allow  me  to  say 
that  last  remark  of  yours  upon  character  is  a  very 
weak  one.  Admitting,  for  the  sake  of  argument, 
thai  what  you  urge  in  my  favor  be  true,  you  must 
know  tliat  the  people  who  write  shrewdly  are  often 
the  most  easy  to  impose  ujDon,  or  have  been  so.  I 
almost  suspect,  without,  however,  having  looked 
into  the  matter,  that  Rochefoucauld  was  a  tender 
lover,  a  warm  frienti,  and,  in  general,  a  dupe  (hap- 


52  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

py  for  him)  to  all  the  impulses  and  affections  which 
he  would  have  us  imagine  he  saw  through  and  had 
mastered.  The  simple  write  shrewdly:  but  do  not 
describe  what  they  do.  And  the  hard  and  worldly 
would  be  too  wise  in  their  generation  to  write  about 
what  they  practise,  even  if  they  perceived  it,  which 
they  seldom  do,  lacking  delicacy  of  imagination." 

Perhaps  (he  continues)  this  ancestor  of  mine  had 
no  ambition,  and  did  not  care  about  any  thing  but 
that  unwholesome  scribbling  ("  ungracious  again, 
distant  descendant !  ")  which  has  brought  us  in  but 
little  pi-oduce  of  any  kind. 

Dear  distant  kinsman,  now  it  is  my  turn  to  speak  : 
now  listen  to  me ;  and  I  will  show  you  the  family 
failing,  not  a  very  uncommon  one,  which  has  re- 
duced us  by  degrees  to  this  sad  state  ;  for  we,  your 
ancestors,  look  on  and  suffer  with  you. 

I  am  afraid  we  must  own  that  we  were  of  that 
foolish  class  of  men  who  never  can  say  a  hearty 
good  word  for  themselves.  You  might  put  a  Mil- 
verton  in  the  most  favorable  position  in  the  world, 
you  might  have  made  him  a  bishop  in  George  the 
Second's  time,  or  a  minister  to  a  Spanish  king  in 
the  seventeenth  century,  and  still  he  would  have 
contrived  to  slniffle  awkwardly  out  of  wealth  and 
dignities,  when  the  right  time  came  for  self-assertion. 


co.yfrAX/oxs  of  j/r  solitude.  £^3 

and  for  sayin^^  a  stout  word  for  his  own  cause,  or 
for  tliat  of  his  kitli  and  kin. 

"  Vox  faucibus  haisit ;  "  the  poor,  simple  fellow 
was  almost  inaudible  ;  and,  muttering  something, 
was  supposed  to  say  just  that  which  he  did  not.  I 
foiL'saw,  therefore,  that  unless  some  Tvlilverton  were 
by  good  fortune  to  marry  into  a  sturdy,  pushing 
family  (which  would  be  better  for  him  than  any 
amount  of  present  fortune)  it  was  all  over  with  the 
race,  as  far  as  worldly  prosperity  is  concerned.  And 
so  it  seems  to  be.  If  you  feel  that  you  are  free  from 
this  defect,  I  will  insure  you  a  fortune.  Talk  of 
cutting  down  the  yew-tree  ;  not  a  stick  of  the  plan- 
tation need  be  touched,  and  I  already  sec  deep 
belts  of  new  wood  rise  round  newly-gained  acres. 
Only  be  sure  that  you  really  can  stand  up  stoutly 
for  yourself. 

I  sec  what  you  are  thinking  of — that  passage  in 
Bacon  (and  it  pleases  me  to  iind  that  you  are  so  far 
well-read,  though  you  have  sold  the  books)  where 
he  says  that  there  are  occasions  when  a  man  needs 
a  friend  to  do  or  say  for  him  what  he  never  can  do 
or  say  so  well,  or  even  at  all  for  himself.  True  :  but, 
my  simple-minded  relative,  have  you  lived  to  the 
age  of  twenty-seven,  and  not  discovered  that  PhcE- 
uixes  and  Friends  are  creatures  of  the  least  prolilic 


54  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

nature  ?  Not  that,  adopting  your  misanthropic 
mood,  I  would  say  that  there  are  no  such  creatures 
as  friends,  and  that  they  are  not  potent  for  good.  A 
man's  friend,  however,  is  ill,  or  travelling,  or  pow- 
erless ;  but  good  self-assurance  is  always  within  call. 

You  are  mute :  you  feel  then  that  you  are  guilty 
too.  Be  comforted  ;  perhaps  there  is  some  island 
of  the  blest  where  there  will  be  no  occasion  for 
pushing.  Once  this  happened  to  me,  that  a  great 
fierce  obdurate  crowd  were  pushing  up  in  long  line 
♦"owards  a  door  which  was  to  lead  them  to  some 
good  thing ;  and  I,  not  liking  the  crowd,  stole  out 
of  it,  having  made  up  my  mind  to  be  last,  and  was 
leaning  indolently  against  a  closed-up  side  door: 
when,  all  of  a  sudden,  this  door  opened,  and  I  was 
the  first  to  walk  in,  and  saw  arrive  long  after  me 
the  men  who  had  been  thrusting  and  struggling 
round  me.  This  does  not  often  happen  in  the  world, 
but  I  think  there  was  a  meaning  in  it. 

But  now  no  more  about  me.  We  have  to  tlii'-k 
what  is  to  be  done  in  your  case. 

You  labor  under  a  retiring  disposition,  you  are 
married,  and  you  wish  to  retrieve  the  family  for- 
tunes. This  is  a  full  and  frank  statement  of  your 
case,  and  there  is  no  doubt  that  it  is  a  very  bad  one, 
requiring  wise  and  energetic  remedies.     First,  you 


COMPAXIOS'S    OF  .1/r  SOLITUDE.  55 

must  at  once  abaiulou  all  those  pursuits  \vhich  dc- 
pciul  for  success  upon  refined  appreciation.  You 
must  seek  to  do  something  which  many  people  de- 
mand. I  cannot  illustrate  what  I  mean  better  than 
by  telling  you  what  I  often  tell  my  publisher,  when- 
ever he  speaks  of  the  slackness  of  trade.  There  is 
a  confectioner's  shop  next  door,  which  is  thronged 
with  people  :  I  beg  him  (the  publisher)  to  draw  a 
moral  from  this,  and  to  set  up,  himself,  an  eating- 
house.  That  would  be  appealing  to  the  million  in 
the  right  way.  I  tell  him  he  could  hire  me  and 
oth-ers  of  his  "eminent  hands"  to  cook  instead  of 
to  write,  and  then,  instead  of  living  on  our  wits 
(slender  diet  indeed  !),  we  ourselves  should  be  able 
to  buy  books,  and  should  become  great  patrons  of 
hterature.  I  did  not  tell  him,  because  it  is  not  wise 
to  run  down  authors  in  the  presence  of  publishers, 
what  I  may  mention  to  you,  that  many  of  us  would 
be  nuicli  more  wiselv  antl  wholesomely  employed  in 
cooking  than  in  writing.  But  this  is  nothing  to  you. 
What  I  want  you,  dear  distant  kinsman,  to  perceive, 
is,  that  you  must  at  once  cultivate  something  which 
is  in  general  demand.  Emigrate,  if  you  like,  and 
cultivate  the  ground.  Cattle  are  always  in  some 
demand,  if  only  for  tallow.  It  is  better  to  provide 
the  fuel  for  the  lamp  than  those  productions  which 


56  COMPAyiONS   OF  3fY  SOLITUDE. 

are  said  to  smell  most  of  it.  I  cannot  enter  into 
details  with  you  ;  because  I  do  not  foresee  what 
will  be  the  flourishing  trades  in  your  time.  I  can 
only  give  you  general  advice. 

One  of  the  great  aids,  or  hindrances,  to  success  in 
any  thing  lies  in  the  temperament  of  a  man.  I  do 
not  know  yours ;  but  I  venture  to  point  out  to  you 
what  is  the  best  temperament,  namely,  a  combination 
of  the  desponding  and  the  resolute,  or,  as  I  had  bet- 
ter express  it,  of  the  apprehensive  and  the  resolute. 
Such  is  the  temperament  of  great  commanders. 
Secretly,  they  rely  upon  nothing  and  upon  nobody. 
There  is  such  a  powerful  element  of  failure  in  all 
human  affairs,  that  a  shrewd  man  is  alwa3'S  saying 
to  himself,  what  shall  I  do,  if  that  which  I  count 
upon  does  not  come  out  as  I  expect.  This  foresight 
dwarfs  and  crushes  all  but  men  of  great  resolution. 

Then  be  not  over-choice  in  looking  out  for  what 
may  exactly  suit  you  ;  but  rather  be  ready  to  adopt 
any  opportunities  that  occur.  Fortune  does  not 
stoop  often  to  take  any  one  up.  Favorable  oppor- 
tunities will  not  happen  precisely  in  the  way  that 
you  have  imagined.  Nothing  does.  Do  not  be  dis- 
couraged, therefore,  by  a  present  detriment  in  any 
course  which  may  lead  to  something  good.  Time 
is  so  precious  here. 


CO^fPAXIOXS    OF  MY  SOLITUDE  57 

Get,  if  you  can,  into  one  or  other  of  the  main 
grooves  of  human  afT.iirs.  It  is  all  the  difTerence  of 
going  by  railway,  and  walking  over  a  ploughed 
field,  whether  vou  adopt  common  courses,  or  set  up 
one  for  yourself.  You  Will  see,  if  your  times  are 
any  thing  like  ours,  very  inferior  persons  highly 
placed  in  the  army,  in  the  chinch,  in  office,  at  the 
bar.  They  have  somehow  got  upon  the  line,  and 
have  moved  on  well  with  very  little  original  motive 
power  of  their  own.  Do  not  let  this  make  you  talk 
as  if  merit  were  utterly  neglected  in  these  or  any 
professions  :  only  that  getting  well  into  the  groove 
will  frequently  do  instead  of  any  great  excellence. 

My  sarcastic  friend,  Ellesmere,  whom  you  will 
probably  know  by  repute  as  a  great  Chief  Justice,  or 
Lord  Chancellor,  says,  with  the  utmost  gravity,  that 
no  man  with  less  than  a  thousand  pounds  a  year  (I 
wonder  whether  in  your  times  you  will  think  that  a 
large  or  a  small  income)  can  aflbrd  to  have  private 
opinions  upon  certain  important  subjects.  He  ad- 
mits that  he  has  known  it  done  upon  eight  hundred 
a  year  ;  but  only  b}'  very  prudent  people  with  small 
families. 

But  the  night  is  coming  on,  and  I  feel,  my  dear 
descendant,  as  if  I  should  like  to  say  something 
more  solemn  to  you  than  these  worldly  maxims. 


^8  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

Whatever  happens,  do  not  be  dissatisfied  with 
your  worldly  fortunes,  lest  the  speech  be  justly 
made  to  you  which  was  once  made  to  a  repining 
person  much  given  to  talk  of  how  great  she  and 
hers  had  been.  "  Yes,  madam,"  was  the  crushing 
reply,  "  we  all  find  our  level  at  last." 

Eternally  that  fable  is  true,  of  a  choice  being 
given  to  men  on  their  entrance  into  life.  Two  ma- 
jestic women  stand  before  you  :  one  in  rich  vesture, 
superb,  with  what  seems  like  a  mural  crown  on  her 
head  and  plenty  in  hdr  hand,  and  something  of  tri- 
umph, I  will  not  say  of  boldness,  in  her  eye  ;  and 
she,  the  queen  of  this  world,  can  give  you  many 
things.  The  other  is  beautiful,  but  not  alluring, 
nor  rich,  nor  powerful ;  and  there  are  traces  of  care 
and  shame  and  sorrow  in  her  face  ;  and  (marvel- 
lous to  say)  her  look  is  downcast  and  yet  noble. 
She  can  give  you  nothing,  but  she  can  make  you 
somebody.  If  you  cannot  bear  to  part  from  her 
sweet,  sublime  countenance,  which  hardly  veils 
with  sorrow  its  infinity,  follow  her:  follow  her,  I 
say,  if  you  are  really  minded  so  to  do ;  but  do  not, 
while  you  are  on  this  track,  look  back  with  ill-con- 
cealed envy  on  the  glittering  things  which  fall  in 
the  path  of  those  who  prefer  to  follow  the  rich 
dame,  and  to  pick  up  the  riches  and  honors  which 
fall  from  her  cornucopia. 


co.uPAXioxs  or  .i/r  soijtcdi-:.  59 

This  is  in  substance  what  a  true  artist  said  to  me 
only  the  other  day,  impatient,  as  lie  told  me,  of  the 
complaints  of  those  who  would  pursue  art,  and  yet 
would  have  fortune. 

But,  indeed,  all  moral  -writings  teem  with  this 
remark  in  one  form  or  other.  You  cannot  have 
inconsistent  advantages.  Do  not  shun  this  maxim 
because  it  is  common-place.  On  the  contrary,  take 
the  closest  heed  of  what  observant  men,  who  would 
probably  like  to  show  originality,  are  yet  constrained 
to  repeat.  Therein  lies  the  marrow  of  the  wisdom 
of  the  world.  Such  things  are  wiser  than  proverbs, 
which  are  seldom  true  except  for  the  occasion  on 
which  they  are  used,  and  arc  generally  good  to 
strengthen  a  resolve  rather  than  to  enlighten  it. 

These  latter  words  of  mine  fall  upon  an  inatten- 
tive ear ;  for  my  distant  descendant,  who  has  been 
gradually  becoming  more  composcil  during  the  pro- 
gress of  this  moral  essay,  at  last  falls  quite  asleep. 
Perhaps  the  great  triumph  of  all  moral  writings, 
including  sermons,  is  that  at  least  they  have  pro- 
duced some  sweet  and  innocent  sleep. 

Poor  fellow !  I  now  see  how  careworn  he  seems, 
though  not  without  some  good  looks,  which  he  owes 
to  his  great-great-great-grandmother,  of  whom,  as 
he  lies  there,  he  puts  me  much  in  mind,      lie  ought 


6o  COMPAXIOKS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

to  thank  me  for  those  good  looks,  and  to  admit  that 
winning  some  beauty  for  the  family  is  at  least  as 
valuable  as  that  Woodcot  chase  which  he  thinks  I 
ought  to  have  laid  hold  of.  But  our  unfiiir  de- 
scendants never  think  of  any  thing  in  our  favor : 
this  gout  and  that  asthma  and  those  mortgages  are 
all  remembered  against  us  ;  we  hear  but  little  on 
the  other  side. 

Sleep  on,  dear  distant  progeny  of  mine,  and  I  will 
keep  the  night  watches  of  your  anxious  thought. 


CHAPTER   V. 

''  I  ^IIESE  companions  of  my  solitude,  my  reveries, 
take  many  forms.  Sometimes,  the  nclnilous 
stuiVout  of  which  they  arc  formed,  comes  together 
with  some  method  and  set  purpose,  and  may  be 
compared  to  a  heavy  cloud,  —  then  they  will  do  for 
an  essay  or  moral  discourse  ;  at  other  times,  they 
are  merely  like  those  sportive  disconnected  forms  of 
vapor  wliich  are  streaked  across  the  heavens,  now 
like  a  feather,  now  like  the  outline  of  a  camel, 
doubtless  obeying  some  law  and  with  some  design, 
but  such  as  mocks  our  observation  ;  at  other  times 
again,  they  arrange  themselves  like  those  fleckered 
clouds,  where  all  the  heavens  are  regularly  broken 
uj)  in  small  divisions,  lying  evenly  over  each  other 
with  light  between  each.  The  result  of  this  last- 
mentioned  state  of  reverie  is  well  brought  out  in 
conversation  :  and  so  I  am  going  to  give  the  reader 
an  account  of  some  talk  which  I  had  lately  with  my 
friend  Ellesmere. 

Once  or  twice  before  I  have  used  this  name  Elles- 
mere as  if  it  were  familiar  to  others  as  to  myself. 
It  is  to  be  found  in  a  book  edited,  as  it  a])pears,  by 


62  COMPANIONS    OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

a  neighboring  clergyman,  named  Dunsford,  who  was 
obliging  and  laborious  enough  to  set  down  some 
conversations  in  which  he,  Ellesmere,  and  myselt 
took  part ;  and  which  he  called  Friends  in  Council. 
There  is  no  occasion  to  refer  to  this  book  to  under- 
s'and  Ellesmere:  a  man  soon  shows  himself  by  his 
talk,  if  he  does  by  any  thing.  Moreover  the  average 
reader  will  find  the  book  a  somewhat  sober,  not  to 
say  dull  affair,  embracing  svich  questions  as  slavery, 
government,  management  of  the  poor,  and  such  like. 
The  reader,  however,  who  is  not  the  average  reader, 
may  perhaps  find  something  worth  agreeing  with,  or 
differing  from,  in  the  book. 

I  flatter  myself  that  last  sentence  is  very  skilful. 
The  poor  publisher,  or  rather  his  head  man,  com- 
plains sadly  that  not  even  the  usual  amount  of  ad- 
vertisement, not  to  speak  of  puffing,  is  allowed  to 
him  ;  the  good  clergyman  liaving  a  peculiar  aversion 
to  such  modes  of  dealing,  and  believing  that  good 
books,  if  there  were  such  things,  should  be  sought 
after,  and  not  poked  in  the  faces  of  jDurchasers  like 
Jews'  penknives  at  coach  doors.  By  this  delicate 
piece  of  flattery,  for  each  reader  will  secretly  conclude 
that  he  is  above  the  average  and  hasten  to  buy  the 
book,  I  shall  have  done  more  than  ;:.  ny  puffs  direct. 
Therefore  beat  ease,  man  of  business,  the  avenues  to 


COyfPANIOXS   OF  ilY  SOLITUDE.  63 

thy  shop  will  he  thronged.  I  can  utter  this  prophecy 
with  the  more  coiilidencc  as  the  shop  in  question  is 
in  the  high  road  to  the  Great  Exhihition. 

Well,  my  friend  EUesmere  was  with  me  for  a  day  ; 
we  were  lounging  about  the  garden  ;  the  great  black 
dog  which  I  always  let  loose  when  EUesmere  is  here, 
to  please  him,  was  slowly  following  us  to  and  fro, 
lianging  out  his  large  tongue,  and  wisliing  we  would 
sit  down,  but  still  not  being  able  to  resist  following 
us  about;  when  EUesmere  suddenly  interrupted 
something  I  was  saying  with  these  words,  "  The 
question  between  us  almost  comes  to  this  :  you  want 
a  sheep-dog.  I  am  satisfied  with  a  watch-dog: 
Kollo  will  do  for  me  ;  and,  as  you  see,  he  is  content 
with  my  approbation." 

This  abrupt  speech  requires  some  explanation.  I 
had  been  talking  about  some  matters  connected  with 
statesmanship,  and  strlcturing,  perhaps  too  severely, 
some  recent  acts  of  government,  in  which,  as  I  said, 
I  detected  some  of  the  worst  habits  of  modern  policy 
—  a  mixture  of  rashness  and  indecision  —  metldling 
and  doing  nothing — sj^ending,  as  I  atldcd,  most  of 
the  powder  for  the  flash  in  the  pan.  Then  I  went 
on  to  deplore,  that  always  statesmanship  appeared  to 
come  upon  the  stage  too  late.  Is  nothing  ever  to  be 
done  in  time?  * 

*  Written  in  1S50. 


64  COMPANIONS    OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

A  good  deal  of  what  I  said  is  true,  I  think,  but 
ought  to  be  taken  "  cum  grano,"  as  they  say  ;  for  men 
who  have  lived  a  good  deal  in  active  life,  and  are 
withdrawn  from  it,  are  apt  to  comment  too  severely 
on  the  conduct  of  those  who  are  left  behind.  They 
forget  the  difficulty  of  getting  anything  done  in  this 
perplexed  world,  and  their  own  former  difficulties 
in  that  way  are  softened  by  distance.  It  was  well 
that  Ellesmere  interrupted  me.  The  conversation 
tlius  proceeded. 

Alilvei'ion.  Yes,  that  is  the  point.  I  confess  I 
should  like  something  of  the  sheep-dog  in  a  ruler. 
I  think  we,  of  all  nations,  can  bear  judicious  inter- 
ference and  regulation;  we  should  not  be  cramped 
by  it. 

Ellesmere.  In  a  representative  government  is  the 
folly  of  the  governed  to  find  no  place? 

Milvertoit.  Yes,  but,  my  good  frieiid,  you  need 
not  be  anxious  to  provide  for  that.  Folly  will  find 
a  place  even  at  the  side  of  princes.  That  was  the 
thing  symbolized  by  great  men's  jesters.  But,  putting 
sarcasm  aside,  Ellesmere,  I  don't  mean  to  blame 
present  men  so  much  as  present  doctrines  and 
systems.  Some  of  the  men  in  power,  or  likely  to 
be,  in  this  country,  are  very   honest,  cajoable,  brave 


CO.UPAX/OXS    OF  .UT  SOLITUDE.  6$ 

men,  full  of  desire  to  do  good.  But  they  have  too 
little  power,  or  rather,  they  meet  with  too  much 
obstruction.  Now,  it  is  not  wise  to  swathe  a  creat- 
ure up  like  a  foreign  baby,  and  then  say,  Exert 
yourself,  govgrn  us,  let  there  be  no  delay. 

Ellcstncrc.  The  amount  of  obstruction  is  over- 
estimated. If  a  ruling  man  wanted  to  do  anythino- 
good,  I  think  he  could  do  it,  though  I  do  admit 
that  there  are  large  powers  of  obstruction  to  be 
encountered. 

Mihcrtoii.  I  do  believe  you  are  right.  A  states- 
man miglit  venture  to  be  greater  and  bolder  than 
liis  position  or  apparent  power  quite  warrants.  And 
If  he  were  to  fall,  he  would  fall  —  and  there  an  end. 

Ellcsmcrc.     And  no  such  great  damage  either. 

Mi'Ivcrton.  But  to  return  to  your  watch-dog  and 
sheep-dog.  There  are  two  things  very  diflerent 
demanded  fron^  statesmen  :  one,  carrying  on  the 
routine  of  ofHce  ;  the  otlier,  originating  measures, 
setting  the  limits  within  which  private  exertion 
should  act.  You  do  not  mean  to  contend,  Ellesmere, 
that  it  would  not  have  been  wise  for  a  government 
to  have  interfi;rcd  with  railway  legislation  earlier 
and  more  efficiently  than  it  did. 

Ellesmere.  No,  —  few  people  know  better  than 
I  do  the  immense  loss  of  time,  money,  labor,  tem- 

5 


66  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

per,  and  happiness  which  might  have  been  saved  in 
that  matter. 

Milverton.  Now  look  again  on  Sanitary  meas- 
ures. Consider  the  years  it  has  taken,  and,  for 
aught  I  Icnow,  may  yet  take,  to  get  a  Smoke  Prohi- 
bition Bill  passed.  If  such  a  thing  is  wise  and 
possible,  let  us  have  it ;  if  not,  tell  us  it  cannot  be 
done.  I  have  taken  instances  in  physical  things 
just  as  they  occurred  to  me :  1  might  have  alluded 
to  higher  matters  which  are  left  in  the  same  way, 
to  see  what  will  happen,  to  wait  for  the  breezes, 
perhaps  the  storms,  of  popular  agitation. 

Ellesmere.  People  in  authority  are  as  fearfid  of 
attacking  any  social  evil  as  men  are  of  cutting  down 
old  trees  about  their  houses.  There  is  always  some- 
thing, however,  to  be  said  for  the  old  trees. 

JMilvertoii.  It  would  mostly  be  better,  though, 
to  cut  them  down  at  once,  and  begin  to  plant  some- 
thing at  the  proper  distance  from  their  houses. 

Ellesmere.  Well,  Milverton,  there  is  one  thing 
you  must  remember,  and  that  is,  that  intelligent 
men  writing  or  talking  about  government  are  apt 
to  fancy  themselves,  or  such  men  as  themselves,  in 
power ;  and  so  ai^e  inclined  to  be  very  liberal  in 
assigning  the  limits  of  that  power.  Let  them  fancy 
some  of  the  foolish  peojolc  they  know  in  this  imagi- 


co.vPA.y/oxs  OF  .uy  solitude.  6y 

naiy  position  of  j^rcat  power ;  and  then  sec  how  the 
intelligent  men  begin  to  shudder  at  the  thought  of 
this  power,  and  to  desire  very  secure  limits  for  it, 
and  very  narrow  space  fur  its  exercise. 

Milvcrton.  Intelligent  public  opinion  will  in 
these  days  prevent  vigorous  action  in  a  minister  from 
hardening  into  despotism. 

EllcsjHcre.  Please  repeat  that  again,  my  friend. 
"Intelligent  public  opinion?"  Were  those  the 
words?  did  I  catch  them  rightly? 

Alilverton.  You  did.  There  is  such  a  thing, 
Ellesmere.  It  is  not  the  first  opinion  heard  in  the 
country  ;  it  is  not  always  loud  on  the  hustings  ;  but 
surely  there  are  a  great  number  of  persons  in  a 
country  like  this,  who  try  to  think,  and  eventually 
form  intelligent  public  opinion. 

Ellesmere.  I  am  afraid  they  are  not  a  very 
active  body. 

Milvertoji.  Not  the  most  active  ;  but  they  come 
in  at  some  time. 

Ellesmere.  I  do  not  wish  to  be  impertinent,  but 
do  any  of  these  people  who  ultimately  (ultimately, 
I  like  that  word),  form  intelligent  public  opinion, 
live  in  the  country?  I  can  imagine  a  retired  wisdom 
in  some  Court  in  London,  say  Pump  Court  for 
instance,  but  I  cannot  fancy  the  blowsy  wisdom  of 
the  country. 


68  COMPANIONS    OF  MT  SOLITUDE. 

Ali'lvcrion.  Now,  Ellesmere,  do  not  be  pro- 
voking. 

Elles?nere.  I  am  all  gravity  again ;  hut  just 
allow  me  to  proj50und  one  little  theory,  namely, 
that  it  is  when  the  retired  wisdom  of  town  is  reviv- 
ified by  country  air  (on  a  visit)  that  it  is  apt  to 
develop  itself  into  —  what  is  it?  —  oh  —  "  intelligent 
public  opinion." 

Milverton.  Now,  as  you  have  had  your  joke,  I 
will  proceed.  I  have  a  theory  that  the  tempera- 
ment and  habits  of  mind  of  individual  statesmen 
have  a  good  deal  to  do  with  government.  I  do  not 
yet  believe  that  we  are  all  compounded  into  some 
great  machine  of  which  you  can  exactly  calculate 
the  results. 

Ellesmere.  What  is  3'our  pet  temperament  for 
a  statesman  ? 

Milverton.  That  is  a  large  question :  one  thing 
I  should  be  inclined  to  say,  with  respect  to  his  habit 
of  mind,  —  he  should  doubt  till  the  last,  and  then 
act  like  a  man  who  has  never  doubted. 

Ellesmere.  Cleverly  put,  but  untrue,  after  the 
fashion  of  you  maxim-mongers.  He  should  not  act 
like  a  man  who  has  never  doubted,  but  like  a  man 
who  was  in  the  habit  of  doubting  till  he  had 
received  sufficient  information.     lie  should  not  con- 


COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE.  69 

vcy  to  you  tlic  idea  of  a  man  wlio  was  given  to 
doubt,  or  not  to  doubt ;  but  of  one  who  could  wait 
till  he  had  inquired. 

J\f/hcrioti.  Your  criticism  is  just.  Well,  then, 
another  thing  which  occurs  to  me  respecting  his 
habits  of  mind  is,  that  he  should  be  one  of  those 
people  who  are  not  given  to  any  system,  and  yet 
who  have  an  exceeding  love  of  improvement  and 
disposition  to  regulate. 

Ellesvicrc.  That  is  good.  I  distrust  systems.  I 
find  that  men  talk  of  principles  ;  and  mean,  when  you 
come  to  inquire,  rules  connected  with  certain  systems. 

Mllverton.  This  enables  me  to  bring  my  notions 
of  government  interference  to  a  point.  It  should  be 
a  principle  in  a  statesman's  mind  that  he  should  not 
interfere  so  as  to  deaden  private  action  :  at  the  same 
time  he  should  be  profoundly  anxious  that  right  and 
good  sliould  be  done,  and  consequently  not  fear  to 
undertake  responsibility.  He  should  not  be  en- 
trapped, mentally,  into  any  system  of  policy  which 
held  him  to  interfere  here,  or  not  to  interfere  there; 
but  he  shoidd  be  inclined  to  look  at  each  case  on  its 
own  nicrils.  This  is  very  hard  work.  Systems  save 
trouble,  —  the  trouble  of  thinking. 

Ellcsmcrc.  There  is  some  sense  in  what  you  sav. 
If  we  talk  no  more  about  statesmanship  (and  to  tell 


70  COMPANIONS    OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

the  truth  I  am  rather  tired  of  the  subject),  our  dia- 
logue will  end  like  the  dialogues  in  a  book,  where, 
after  much  sham  stage-fighting,  the  author's  opinion  is 
always  made  to  prevail.  By  the  way,  I  dare  say  you 
think  that  the  nursery  for  Statesmen  is  Literature  ; 
and  that  in  these  days  of  railways,  a  short  line  from 
Grub  Street  to  Downing  Street  (a  single  set  of  rails, 
as  no  one  will  want  to  return)  is  imperatively  needed. 

Milverton.  No,  I  do  not.  I  think  that  good  Lit- 
erature, like  any  other  good  work,  gives  notice  of 
material  out  of  which  a  statesman  might  choose.  To 
make  a  good  book,  my  dear  friend,  is  a  very  hard 
thing,  I  suspect.  I  do  not  mean  a  work  of  genius. 
Of  course  such  are  very  rare.  But  to  give  an  account 
of  any  transaction  ;  to  put  forward  any  connected 
views ;  in  short  to  do  any  mere  literary  work  well ; 
it  requires  many  of  the  things  which  tend  to  make  a 
good  man  of  business,  —  industry,  for  instance, 
method,  clearness,  resolve,  power  of  adaptation. 

JEIlcsjnere.  Yes,  no  doubt :  foreign  nations  seem 
to  have  profited  so  much  from  calling  literary  men 
to  their  aid,  that  — 

ATllvertoii.  That  is  an  unjust  sneer,  Ellesmere. 
Some  of  the  writings  of  the  men  to  whom  I  know 
you  allude,  do  not  fulfil  the  condition  of  being  good 
books ;  arc  full  of  false  antitheses,  illogical  conclu- 


COMPANIONS    OF  MY  SOLITUDE.  71 

sions,  vapid  assertions,  and  words  arranged  accord- 
ing to  prettiness,  not  to  meaning.  Such  books  are 
beacons  ;  they  tell  all  men,  the  people  who  wrote  us 
are  sprightly  fellows,  hut  cannot  be  trusted,  they  love 
sound  more  than  sense,  pray  do  not  trust  them  with 
any  function  requiring  sense  rather  than  sound. 

But  you  arc  not  to  conclude  because  some  men 
make  use  of  Literature,  perhaps  the  only  way  open 
to  them  of  carrying  their  views  into  action,  that  they 
could  not  act  themselves.  Napoleon  was  always 
writing  early  in  life  ;  Ctesar  indited  books,  even  a 
grammar  ;  a  whole  host  of  captains  and  statesmen  in 
the  sixteenth  century  were  writers.  Follow  Cer- 
vantes, Mendoza,  Sidney,  Camoens,  Descartes,  Paul 
Louis  Courier,  to  the  field,  and  come  back  with  them 
—  if  you  ever  do  come  back  alive,  you  individual 
clothed  with  horsehair  and  audacity  ;  and  then  follow 
them  to  their  studies  andsee  whether  they  cannot  give 
a  good  account  of  themselves  in  both  departments. 

EUcsiucrc.  Pistol  is  come  back  again  on  earth, 
or  Bombastes  Furioso,  neither  of  whose  characters 
sits  well  upon  you.  But,  my  friend,  we  are  wont  in 
law  to  look  to  the  point  at  issue  ;  we  were  talking 
of  statesmen,  not  of  soldiers. 

Milvcrton.     Machiavclli  — 

Ellesmere.     That  worthy  man  ! 


fj2  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

Milve7-to7i.  Caesai-  again  !  Lorenzo  de'  Medici, 
James  the  First  of  Scotland,  Milton,  Bacon,  Grotius, 
Shaftesbury,  Somers,  St.  John,  Temple,  Burke.  And 
were  I  to  rack  my  brains,  or  my  books,  I  could  no 
doubt  make  an  ample  list, 

Ellesinei'e.  Good,  bad,  and  indifferent :  here  they 
come,  altogether. 

Milverton.  And  have  there  been  no  bad  states- 
men amongst  those  who  had  no  tincture  of  letters.'' 

EUesme7'e.     One  or  two,  certainly. 

Milvertoit.  You  know,  Ellesmere,  I  have  never 
talked  loudly  of  the  claims  of  literary  men,  and  have 
always  maintained  that  for  them,  especially  when 
they  are  of  I'eal  merit,  to  complain  of  neglect,  is  for 
the  most  part  absurd.  A  great  writer,  as  I  think  Mr. 
Carlyle  has  well  said,  creates  a  want  for  himself — 
a  most  artificial  one.  Nobody  wanted  him  before  he 
appeared.  He  has  to  show  them  what  they  want  him 
for.  You  might  as  well  talk  of  Levcrrier's  planet 
having  been  neglected  in  George  the  Second's  time. 
It  had  not  been  discovered  :  that  is  all. 

There  maybe  misunderstandings  as  to  the  nature 
of  literary  merit,  as  indeed  of  all  merit,  which  may 
prevent  worldly  men  from  making  due  use  of  it  iu 
worldly  affairs.  For  instance,  I  should  say  that  diplo- 
matic services  are  services  peculiarly  fit  to  be  per- 


COMPAXIONS    OF  MY  SOLITUDE.  73 

formed  by  literary  men.  They  are  likely  to  be  more 
of  cosmopolites  than  other  men  are  Their  various 
accomplishments  serve  them  as  means  of  attaching 
others  in  strange  countries.  Their  observations  are 
likely  to  be  good.  One  can  easily  see  that  a  great 
deal  of  their  habitual  work  would  come  into  play  in 
such  employments.  And  there  is  an  appearance  of 
hardship  in  not  giving,  at  least  occasionally,  to  men 
who  are  particularly  shut  out  from  most  worldly  ad- 
vantages, those  ollices  which  they  promise  to  be  most 
fitted  for. 

Elles7ncrc.  It  would  improve  many  a  literary  man 
greatly  to  have,  or  to  have  had,  some  real  business, 

Milvcrton.  No  doubt.  Indeed,  I  have  always 
thought  it  is  a  melancholy  thing  to  see  how  shut  up, 
or  rather  I  should  say,  how  twisted  and  deformed  a 
man  becomes  by  surrendering  himself  to  any  one 
art,  science,  calling,  or  culture.  You  see  a  person 
become  a  lawyer,  a  physician,  a  clerg}'man,  an 
author,  or  an  artist ;  and  cease  to  be  a  man,  a  whole- 
some man,  fairly  developed  in  all  ways.  Each 
man's  art  or  function,  however  sei-viceable,  should 
be  attached  to  him  no  more  than  to  a  soldier  his 
sword,  which  the  accomplished  military  man  can 
lay  aside,  and  not  even  remind  you  that  he  has  ever 
worn  such  a  thinsr. 


74  COMPANIONS    OF  MT  SOLITUDE. 

Ellesmere.  An  idea  strikes  me  ;  I  see  how  literary 
men  may  be  rewarded,  literature  soundly  encour- 
aged, and  yet  the  author  be  injured  the  least  possible 
by  his  craft.  Hitherto  we  have  given  pensions  for 
what  a  man  has  written.  I  would  do  this  :  I  would 
ascertain  when  a  inan  has  acquired  that  lamentable 
facility  for  doing  second-rate  things  which  is  not 
uncommon  in  literature  as  in  other  branches  of  life, 
and  then  I  would  say  to  him,  I  see  you  can  write, 
here  is  a  hundred  a  year  for  you  as  long  as  you  are 
quite  quiet.  Indeed,  I  think  pensions  and  honors 
should  generally  be  given  to  the  persons  who  could 
have  done  the  things  for  which  such  rewards  are 
given,  but  who  have  not  done  them.  I  would  say 
to  this  man.  You  have  great  parliamentary  influence, 
you  did  not  use  it  for  mere  party  purposes  ;  there  is 
a  peerage  for  you.  You,  turning  to  another  man, 
might  have  become  a  great  lawyer,  or  rather  a  law- 
yer in  great  place  :  you  had  too  much  — 

Milverton.     Modesty  — 

Ellesmere.  Pooh,  nonsense  !  modesty  never  did 
anybody  any  harm.  No,  let  me  go  on  with  my 
speech.  You  had  too  much  honesty,  or  scrupulous- 
ness, to  escape  being  thrown  out  for  the  borough  of 

which  (as  a  lawyer  to  get  on  in  the  highest 

offices  must  please  a  constituency  as  well  as  under- 


COMPANIONS    OF  MY  SOLITUDE.  75 

stand  his  business)  was  fatal  to  you.  Here,  how- 
ever, is  a  baronetcy  for  you. 

Here,  you,  Mr.  Milverton,  you  might  have  written 
two  books  a  year  (dreadful  thought !),  you  have  not 
always  inflicted  one  upon  us.  Be  Guelphed,  and 
consider  yourself  well  olT.  Keep  yourself  quiet  for 
several  years,  and  we  may  advance  you  further. 

Oh !  what  a  patron  of  arts  and  letters  is  lost  in 
me  !  Now  this  dog  can  bark  and  make  a  horrible 
noise  to  distinguish  himself;  he  docs  not  do  it  — 
that  is  why  I  like  you  so  much,  my  dear  Rollo  (at 
that  instant,  unluckily,  Rollo,  taking  heed  of  Ellos- 
mere's  comical  gestures,  and  seeing  that  something 
was  addressed  to  him,  began  to  frisk  about  and 
bark).  ■  Oh,  dear  me  !  I  sec  one  can't  praise  or 
encourage  any  creature  without  doing  mischief. 

Milverton.  You  have  not  to  reproach  yourself 
for  having  done  much  in  this  way. 

Ellesmere.  Too  much,  —  sadly  too  much.  But 
here  comes  John  with  a  solicitous  face,  to  get  your 
orders  about  planting  the  trees  which  came  last 
night,  and  which  ought  to  liave  been  put  in  early 
this  morning.  Attend  to  them  :  they  are  your  great 
works ;  some  of  them  may  live  to  a  remote  pos- 
terity :  and  while  you  are  about  it,  my  good  fellow, 
do  put  in  something  which  will  produce  eatables. 


76  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

Those  fir-cones  are  very  pretty  things,  but  hard  to 
eat.  Remember  that  a  certain  learned  gentleman, 
who  hopes  to  live  to  a  good  old  age,  is  very  fond  of 
mulberries  ;  and  if  some  trees  w^ere  put  in  now^,  he 
might  have  something  good  to  eat  when  he  comes 
into  the  country,  and  be  able  to  refresh  himself 
after  delivei'ing  judicious  opinions  on  all  subjects. 

So  we  separated,  I  to  my  trees,  and  Ellesmere  to 
take  the  dog  out  for  a  walk. 


CHAPTER   \T[. 

T  RESOLVED  to-day  to  go  out  into  the  neighbor- 
ing  pine-wood  alone,  to  con  over  some  notes 
which  I  am  anxious  to  read  by  myself,  with  only  an 
occa&jonal  remark  from  a  wood-pigeon,  or  what  may 
be  gained  from  the  gliding,  rustling  squirrel.  There 
is  scarcely  any  thing  in  nature  to  be  compared  with 
a  pine-wood,  I  think.  I  remember  once  when,  after 
a  long  journey,  I  was  approaching  a  city  ennobled 
by  great  works  of  art,  and  of  great  renown,  that  I 
had  to  pass  through  what  I  was  told  by  the  guide- 
books was  most  insipid  country,  only  to  be  hurried 
over  as  fast  as  might  be,  and  nothing  to  be  thought 
or  said  about  it.  But  the  guide-books,  though  very 
clever  and  useful  things  in  their  way,  do  not  know 
each  of  us  personally,  nor  what  we  secretly  like  and 
care  for.  Well,  I  was  speeding  through  this  "  un- 
interesting" country,  and  now  there  remained  but 
one  long  dull  stage,  as  I  read,  to  be  gone  through 
before  I  should  reach  the  much-wished-for  city.  It 
was  necessary  to  stay  some  time  (for  we  travelled 
vetturino  fashion)  at  the  little  post-house,  and  I 
walked  on,  promising  to  be  in  the  way  whenever 


78  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

the  vehicle  should  overtake  me.  The  road  led 
through  a  wood,  chiefly  of  pines,  varied,  however, 
occasionally  by  other  trees. 

Into  this  wood  I  strayed.  There  was  that  almost 
indescribably  soothing  noise  (the  Romans  would 
have  used  the  word  "  susurrus"),  the  aggregate  of 
many  gentle  movements  of  gentle  creatures.  The 
birds  hopped  but  a  few  paces  oft',  as  I  approached 
them ;  the  brilliant  butterflies  waved  hither  and 
thither  before  me  ;  there  was  a  soft  breeze  that  day, 
and  the  tops  of  the  tall  trees  swayed  to  and  fro  po- 
litely to  each  other.  I  found  many  delightful  rest- 
ing-places. It  was  not  all  dense  wood  ;  but  here 
and  there  were  glades  (such  open  spots,  I  mean,  as 
would  be  cut  through  by  the  sword  for  an  army  to 
pass)  ;  and  here  and  there  stood  a  clump  of  trees 
of  different  heights  and  foliage,  as  beautifully  ar- 
ranged as  if  some  triumph  of  the  art  of  landscape 
had  been  intended,  though  it  was  only  Nature's  way 
of  healing  up  the  gaps  in  the  forest.  For  her  heal- 
ing is  a  new  beauty. 

It  was  very  warm,  without  which  nothing  Is  beau- 
tiful to  me;  and  I  fell  into  the  plcasantcst  train  of 
thought.  The  easiness  of  that  2:)rescnt  moment 
seemed  to  show  the  possibility  of  all  care  being 
driven  away  from  the  world  some  day.     For  thus 


CO}fPAXIOXS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE.  79 

peace  brinpjs  a  sensation  of  power  with  it.  I  shall 
not  say  wliat  I  tliought  of,  for  it  is  not  good  always 
to  be  communicative  ;  but  altogether  that  hour  in 
the  pine-wood  was  the  happiest  hour  of  the  whole 
journey,  though  I  saw  many  grand  pictures  and 
noble  statues,  a  mighty  river  and  buildings  which 
were  built  when  people  had  their  own  clear  tlioughts 
of  what  they  meant  to  do,  and  how  they  would  do 
it.  But  in  seeing  these  things  there  is,  so  to  speak, 
something  that  is  oflicial,  that  must  be  done  in  a 
set  way  ;  and,  after  all,  it  is  the  chance  felicities  in 
minor  things  which  are  so  pleasant  in  a  journey. 
You  had  intended,  for  instance,  to  go  and  hear  some 
great  service,  and  there  was  something  to  be  done, 
and  a  crowd  to  be  encountered  ;  and  you  open  your 
window  and  find,  as  the  warm  air  streams  in,  that 
beautiful  sounds  come  with  it ;  in  truth  your  win- 
dow is  not  far  olT  from  an  opening  in  one  of  the  ca- 
thedral windows,  and  there  you  stay  drinking  in  all 
the  music,  being  alone.  You  feel  that  a  bit  of  good 
fortune  has  happened  to  you  ;  and  you  arc  happier, 
all  the  day  for  it. 

It  is  tlie  same  thing  in  the  journey  of  life  :  pleasure 
falls  into  no  plan. 

I  think  I  have  justified  my  liking  for  a  pine-wood  ; 


8o  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

and  though  the  particular  wood  I  can  get  at  here  is 
but  a  poor  thing  as  compared  with  the  great  forests 
I  have  been  thinking  of,  yet,  loolced  at  with  all  the 
reminiscence  of  their  beauties,  its  few  and  mean  par- 
ticulars are  so  wrought  upon  by  memory  and  fancy, 
that  it  brings  before  me  a  sufficient  picture,  half 
seen,  half  recollected,  of  all  that  is  most  beautiful 
in  sylvan  scenery. 

To  my  wood  then  I  wandered  ;  and,  after  pacing 
up  and  down  a  little,  and  enjoying  the  rich  color  of 
the  trunks  of  the  trees,  I  sat  down  upon  a  tree  that 
had  been  lately  felled,  and  read  out  my  notes  to  my- 
self. Here  they  are.  They  begin,  I  see,  with  a 
little  narration  ;  which,  however,  is  not  a  bad  be- 
ginning. 

It  was  a  bright  winter's  day ;  and  I  sat  upon  a 
garden-seat  in  a  sheltered  nook  towards  the  south, 
having  come  out  of  my  study  to  enjoy  the  warmth, 
like  a  fly  that  has  left  some  snug  crevice  to  stretch 
his  legs  upon  the  unwontedly  sunny  pane  in  Decem- 
ber. My  little  daughter  (she  is  a  very  little  thing 
about  four  years  old)  came  running  up  to  me,  and 
when  she  had  arrived  at  my  knees,  held  up  a  strag- 
gling but  pretty  weed.  Tlien,  with  great  earnest- 
ness, and  as  if  fresh  from   some  controversy  on  the 


co.]fPAXioys  OF  ^fY  solitude.  8i 

subject,  she  exclaimed,  "■  Is  this  a  weed,  Papa  ;  is 
tills  a  weed  ?  " 

*'  Yes,  a  weed,"  I  rejilied. 

With  a  look  of  disappointment  she  moved  otV  to 
the  one  she  loved  best  amongst  us  ;  and,  asking  the 
same  question,  received  the  same  answer. 

"  But  it  has  flowers,"  the  child  replied. 

"  That  does  not  signify ;  it  is  a  weed,"  was  the 
inexorable  answer. 

Presently,  after  a  moment's  consideration,  the 
child  ran  off  again,  and  meeting  the  gardener  just 
near  my  nook,  though  out  of  sight  from  where  I 
sat,  she  coaxingly  addressed  him. 

"  Nicholas  dear,  is  this  a  weed?" 

"  Yes,  miss,  they  call  it  '  Shepherd's  purse.'" 

A  pause  ensued  :  I  thought  the  child  was  now 
fairly  silenced  by  authority,  when  all  at  once  the 
little  voice  began  again,  "Will  you  plant  it  in  my 
garden,  Nicholas  dear?  do  plant  it  in  my  garden." 

There  was  no  resisting  the  anxious  entreaty  of 
the  chikl  ;  and  man  and  child  moved  oft' together  to 
plant  the  weed  in  one  of  those  plots  of  groiuid 
which  the  children  walk  about  upon  a  good  deal, 
and  put  branches  of  trees  in  and  grown-up  flowers, 
and  then  examine  the  roots  (a  system  as  encourag- 
ing as  other  systems   of  education   I   could   name), 

and  which  they  call  their  gardens. 
6 


82  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

But  the  child's  words  "  Will  you  plant  it  in  my 
garden?"  remained  upon  my  mind.  That  is  what 
I  have  always  been  thinking,  I  exclaimed  :  and  it  is 
what  I  will  begin  by  saying. 

And,  indeed,  dear  reader,  if  I  were  to  tell  you 
how  long  I  have  been  thinking  of  the  subject  which 
I  mean  to  preface  by  the  child's  fond  words  ;  and 
how  hopeless  it  has  at  times  appeared  to  me  to  say 
any  thing  worth  hearing  about  it ;  and  how  I  have 
still  clung  to  my  resolve,  and  worked  on  at  other 
things  with  a  view  of  coming  eventually  to  this, 
you  would  sympathize  with  me  already,  as  we  do 
with  any  man  who  keeps  a  task  long  in  mind  and 
heart,  though  he  execute  it  at  last  but  poorly,  and 
though  it  be  but  a  poor  task,  such  as  a  fortune  for 
himself,  or  a  tomb  for  his  remains.  For  we  like  to 
see  a  man  persevere  in  any  thing. 

Without  more  preface,  then,  I  will  say  at  once 
that  this  subject  is  one  which  I  have  been  wont  to 
call  "the  great  sin  of  great  cities"  —  not  that  in 
so  calling  it,  I  have  perhaps  been  strictly  just,  but 
the  description  will  do  well  enough.  For  what  is 
the  thing  which  must  so  often  diminish  the  pride  of 
man  when  contemplating  the  splendid  monuments 
of  a  great  city,  its  sliops,  its  public  buildings,  parks, 
equipages,  and   above    all,   the    wonderful   way   in 


co^fPA.\'/o.vs  or  j/r  solitdde.  S3 

which  vast  crowds  of  people  go  about  tlicir  aflaira 
with  so  little  outward  contest  and  confusion?  I  im- 
agine the  beholder  in  the  best  parts  of  tlie  town, 
not  diving  into  narrow  streets,  wandering  sickened 
and  exhausted  near  uncovered  ilitclies  in  squalid  sub- 
urbs, or  studiously  looking  behind  the  brilliant  sur- 
face of  things.  But  what  is  it  which  on  that  very 
surface,  helping  to  form  a  part  of  the  brilliancy 
(like  the  prismatic  colors  seen  on  stagnant  film), 
conveys  at  times  to  any  thoughtful  mind  an  impres- 
sion of  the  deepest  mournfulncss,  a  perception  of 
the  dark  blots  upon  human  civilization,  in  a  word, 
someappreciationof  the  great  sin  of  great  cities?  The 
vile  sewer,  tlie  oflcnsive  factory  chimney,  the  squal- 
id suburb  toll  their  own  tale  very  clearly.  The  girl 
with  hardened  look,  and  false  imprinted  smile,  tells 
one  no  less  ominous  of  evil. 

In  fact  I  do  not  know  any  one  thing  which  con- 
centrates and  reflects  more  accurately  the  evils  of 
any  society  tlian  this  sin.  It  is  a  measure  of  the  want 
of  employment,  the  uncertainty  of  employment,  the 
moral  corruption  amongst  the  higher  classes,  the 
want  of  education  amongst  the  lower,  the  relaxation 
of  bonds  between  master  and  servant,  employer 
and  employed  ;    and,  indeed,  it   expresses   the  want 


84  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

of  jDrudence,  truth,  light,  and  love  in  that  commu- 
nity. 

In  considering-  any  evil,  our  thoughts  maybe  classed 
under  three  heads,  —  the  nature  of  it,  the  causes  of  it, 
the  remedies  for  it.  Often  the  discussion  of  any  one 
of  these  gi'eat  branches  of  the  subject  involves  the 
other  two  ;  and  it  becomes  difficult  to  divide  them 
without  pedantry.  But  in  general,  we  may,  for 
convenience,  attend  to  such  a  division  of  the  subject. 

I.   The  Nature. 

The  nature  of  the  evil  in  this  case  is  one  which 
does  not  require  to  be  largely  dwelt  upon  ;  and  yet 
several  things  must  be  said  about  it.  One  which 
occurs  to  me  is  the  degradation  of  race.  Thousands 
upon  thousands  of  beautiful  women  are  by  it  con- 
demned to  sterility.  As  a  nation,  we  should  look 
with  exceeding  jealousy  and  alarm  at  any  occupation 
which  claimed  our  tallest  men  and  left  them  without 
offspring.  And,  surely,  it  is  no  light  matter,  in  a 
national  point  of  view,  that  any  sin  should  claim  tlie 
right  of  consuming,  sometimes  as  rapidly  as  if  they 
wei'e  a  slave  population,  a  considerable  number  of 
the  best-looking  persons  in  the  community. 

How  slight,  however,  is  the  physical  degradation 


COMPANIONS    OF  MY  SOLITUDE.  85 

compared  with  the  mental  degradation  caused  by 
tliis  sin :  and  here  I  do  not  mean  only  the  dishonor 
of  the  individuals,  but  the  large  social  injury  which 
the  mere  existence  of  such  a  thing  causes.  For  it 
accustoms  men  to  the  contemplation  of  the  greatest 
social  failures,  and  introduces  habitually  a  low  view 
of  the  highest  things.  We  arc  apt  to  look  at  each 
individual  case  too  harshly  ;  but  the  whole  thing  is 
not  looked  at  gravely  enough.  This  often  happens 
in  considering  any  great  social  abuse  ;  and  so  we 
frequently  commence  the  remedy  by  some  great 
injustice  in  a  particular  case. 

In  appreciating  the  nature  of  this  evil,  the  feelings 
of  tlie  people  concerned  with  it  are  a  large  part  of 
the  subject.  On  the  one  side  are  shame,  pride, 
dejection,  restlessness,  hopelessness,  and  a  sense  of 
ill-usage  resulting  in  a  bitter  ellVontery,  a  mean 
heartlessncss,  and  a  godless  remorse.  As  a  mere 
matter  of  statesmanship  such  a  class  requiits  to  be 
looked  to  as  pre-eminently  dangerous.  On  the  other 
side  is  often  the  meanness  without  the  shame  ;  and 
a  pcrniatieiit  coarseness  and  unholincss  of  mind  is 
iuHictcd  upon  the  sex  that  most  requires  refinement 
and  spirituality  in  tlie  afiections. 

To  return,  however,  to  a  consideration  of  the  feel- 
ings of  the  poor  women  ;  it  may  be  noticed  that  they 


86  COMPANIONS    OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

have  an  excessive  fear  of  being  left  alone  with  their 
own  recollections,  which  is,  no  doubt,  a  great  obstacle 
to  their  being  reclaimed.  Withal  there  is  something 
very  grand  though  sad,  that  one  of  the  main  obstacles 
to  outward  improvement  lies  in  the  intensity  of  shame 
for  the  wrong-doing,  in  a  dumb  but  profound  remorse. 
You  may  see  similar  feelings  operating  very  variously 
among  the  greatest  men  whose  spiritual  state  is  at 
all  known  to  us.  Poor  Luther  exclaims,  "  When  I 
am  assailed  with  heavy  tribulations,  I  rush  out  among 
my  pigs,  rather  than  remain  alone  by  myself.  The 
human  heart  is  like  a  millstone  in  a  mill ;  when  you 
put  wheat  under  it,  it  turns  and  grinds  and  bruises 
the  wheat  to  flour  ;  if  you  put  no  wheat,  it  still  grinds 
on,  but  then  it  is  itself  it  grinds  and  wears  away." 

Certainly  the  Gospel  seems  especially  given  to 
meet  these  cases  of  remorse,  and  to  prevent  despair 
(not  the  tempter  but  the  slave  driver  to  so  many 
crimes)  fi'om  having  an  unjust  and  irreligious  hold, 
not  so  much  on  men's  fears  as  on  their  fancies  — 
especially  their  notions  of  perfection  as  regai'ds 
themselves.  For  I  doubt  not  but  that  men  and 
women  much  lower  down  in  the  scale  of  cultivation 
and  sensibility  than  we  imagine,  are  haunted  by  a 
sense  of  their  own  fall  from  what  they  feel  and  think 
they  ought  to  have  been. 


COMPAXIOXS   OF  My  SOLITUDE.  87 


II.  The  Causes. 

The  main  cause  of  this  sin  on  the  woman's  part 
is  want,  —  ahsohite  want.  This,  though  one  of  the 
most  grievous  things  to  contemplate,  has  at  the  same 
time  a  large  admixture  of  hope  in  it.  For,  surely, 
if  civilization  is  to  make  any  sufficient  answer  for 
itself,  and  for  the  many  serious  evils  it  promotes,  it 
ought  to  be,  that  it  renders  the  vicissitudes  of  life 
less  extreme,  that  it  provides  a  resource  for  all  of 
us  against  excessive  want.  Hitherto  we  have  not 
succeedctl  in  making  it  do  so,  but  it  is  contended, 
and  with  apparent  justice,  that  it  acts  better  in  this 
respect  than  savage  life.  At  any  rate,  to  return  to 
the  main  course  of  my  argument,  it  is  more  satis- 
factory to  hear  that  this  evil  is  a  result,  on  one  side 
at  least,  of  want  rather  than  of  depravity. 

The  next  great  cause  is  in  the  over-rigid  views 
and  opinions,  especially  as  against  women,  ex- 
pressed in  reference  to  unchastity.  Christianity  has 
been  in  some  measure  to  blame  for  this;  though,  if 
rightly  applied,  it  would  have  been  the  siu'est  cure. 
'•Publicans  and  sinners!"  Such  did  He  prefer 
before  the  company  of  Pharisees  and  hvpocrites. 
These    latter,  however,   have   been    in   great   credit 


88  COMPANIONS    OF  J/F  SOLITUDE. 

ever  since ;  and,  for  my  part,  I  see  no  end  to  their 
being  pronounced  for  ever  the  choice  society  of  the 
w^orld. 

The  virtuous,  carefully  tended  and  cai'efully 
brought  up,  ought  to  bethink  themselves  how  little 
they  may  owe  to  their  own  merit  that  they  are  vir- 
tuous, for  it  is  in  the  evil  concurrence  of  bad  dispo- 
sition and  masterless  opportunity  that  crime  comes. 
Of  course,  to  an  evil-disposed  mind,  opportunity 
will  never  be* wanting;  but,  when  one  person  or 
class  of  persons  is  from  circumstances  peculiarly 
exposed  to  temptation,  and  goes  wrong,  it  is  no 
great  stretch  of  charity  for  others  to  conclude  that 
that  person,  or  class,  did  not  begin  with  worse  dis- 
positions than  they  themselves  who  are  still  without 
a  stain.  This  is  very  obvious ;  but  it  is  to  be 
observed  that  the  reasoning  powers  which  are  very 
prompt  in  mastering  any  simple  scientific  proposi- 
tion, experience  a  wonderful  halting  in  their  logic 
when  applied  to  the  furtlicrance  of  charity. 

There  is  a  very  homely  proverb,  about  the  fate  of 
the  pitcher  that  goes  often  to  the  water,  which  might 
be  an  aid  to  charity,  and  which  bears  closely  on 
the  present  case.  The  Spaniards,  from  whom  I 
dare  say  we  have  the  proverb,  express  it  prettily 
and  pithily. 


CO.UPAX/OXS    OF  J/r  SOLITUDE.  89 

"  Cantnrillo  que  muchas  vezcs  va  a  la  fucnte, 
O  dcxa  la  asa,  o  la  frente." 

"  The  little  pitcher  that  goes  often  to  the  fountain,  either 
leaves  the  handle  or  the  spout  behind  some  daj." 

Tlic  ilaiiity  vase,  which  is  kept  under  a  glass  case 
in  a  drawing-room,  should  not  be  too  proud  of  re- 
maining withoiit  a  flaw,  considering  its  great  advan- 
tages. 

In  the  New  Testament  we  have  such  matters 
treated  in  a  truly  divine  manner.  There  is  no  pal- 
liation of  crime.  Sometimes  our  charity  is  so 
mixed  up  with  a  mash  of  sentiment  and  sickly  feel- 
ing that  we  do  not  know  where  we  arc,  and  what  is 
vice,  and  what  is  virtue.  But  here  are  the  brief 
stern  words,  "  Go,  and  sin  no  more  ;  "  but,  at  the 
same  time,  there  is  an  infmite  consideration  for  the 
criminal,  not  however  as  criminal,  but  as  human 
being:  I  mean,  not  in  respect  of  her  criminality, 
but  of  her  humanity. 

Now,  an  instance  of  our  want  of  obedience  to 
these  Christian  precepts  has  often  struck  me  in  the 
not  visiting  married  women  whose  previous  lives 
will  not  bear  inspection.  Whose  will?  Not  merely 
all  Christian  people,  but  all  civilized  people,  ought 
to  set  their  faces  against  this  excessive  retrospection. 

But  if  ever  there  were  an  occasion  on  which  men 


90  COMPANIONS    OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

(I  say  men,  but  I  mean  more  especially  women) 
should  be  careful  of  scattering  abroad  unjust  and 
severe  sayings,  it  is  in  speaking  of  the  frailties  and 
delinquencies  of  women.  For  it  is  one  of  those 
things  where  an  unjust  judgment,  or  the  fear  of  one, 
breaks  down  the  bridge  behind  the  repentant ;  and 
has  often  made  an  error  into  a  crime,  and  a  single 
crime  into  a  life  of  crime. 

A  daughter  has  left  her  home,  madly,  ever  so 
wickedly,  if  you  like  ;  but  what  are  too  often  the 
demons  tempting  her  onwards  and  preventing  her 
return  ?  The  uncharitable  speeches  she  has  heard 
at  home  ;  and  the  feeling  she  shares  with  most  of 
us,  that  those  we  have  lived  with  are  the  sharpest 
judges  of  our  conduct. 

"  Would  you,  then,"  exclaims  some  reader  or 
hearer,  "  take  back  and  receive  with  tenderness  a 
daughter  who  had  erred  ?  ".  "  Yes,"  I  reply,  "  if 
she  had  been  the  most  abandoned  woman  upon 
earth." 

A  foolish  family  pride  often  adds  to  this  imcharit- 
able  way  of  feeling  and  speaking  which  I  venture 
to  reprehend.  Our  care  is  not  that  an  evil  and  an 
unfortunate  thing  has  happened,  but  that  our  fixmily 
has  been  disgraced,  as  we  call  it.  Family  vanity 
mixes  up  with  and  exasperates  rigid  virtue.     Good 


CO.UJ'AMOXS    OF  Afy  SOLITUDE.  91 

heavens!  if  \vc  could  but  sec  wlicre  disgrace  really 
lies,  how  often  men  would  be  ashamed  of  their 
riches  and  their  honors ;  and  would  discern  that  a 
bad  temper,  or  an  irritable  disposition,  \v:is  the 
greatest  family  disgrace  that  attached  to  them. 

A  fear  of  the  uncharitable  speeches  of  others  is 
the  incentive  in  many  courses  of  evil ;  but  it  has  a 
peculiar  eflect  in  the  one  we  are  considering,  as  it 
occurs  witli  most  force  just  at  the  most  critical  period, 
—  when  the  victim  of  seduction  is  upon  the  point 
of  falling  into  worse  ways.  Then  it  is  that  the  un- 
charitable speeches  she  has  heard  on  this  subject  in 
former  days  are  so  many  goads  to  her,  urging  her 
along  the  downward  path  of  evil.  What  a  strange 
desperate  notion  it  is  of  men,  when  they  have 
erred,  that  things  are  at  the  worst,  that  nothing  can 
be  done  to  rescue  them  ;  whereas  Judas  might  have 
done  something  better  than  hang  himself. 

But  if  we  were  all  so  kind,  exclaims  some  rigid 
man,  we  should  only  encourage  the  evil  we  wish  to 
subdue.  He  does  not  see  that  the  first  step  in  evil, 
and  the  abandonment  to  it  as  a  course  of  life,  pro- 
ceed mostly  from  totally  ditlercnt  motives,  and  arc 
totally  dillerent  things.  One  who  dwelt  on  a  secure 
height  of  peace  and  virtue,  has  fallen  sadly  and 
come  down  upon  a  table-land  plagued  with  storms 


93  COMPANIONS   OF  3IY  SOLITUDE. 

and  liable  to  attacks  of  all  kinds,  and  from  which 
there  is  no  ascent  to  the  height  again,  but  which  is 
still  at  an  immense  distance  above  a  certain  abyss ; 
and  we  should  be  very  cautious  of  doing  any  thing 
that  might  make  the  foolish,  dejected,  pride-led 
person  plunge  hopelessly  down  into  the  abyss,  in  all 
probability,  to  be  lost  forever. 

Before  quitting  the  subject  of  the  family,  I  must 
observe  that,  independently  of  any  harshness  of 
remark  which  a  young  person  may  have  been  accus- 
tomed to  hear  on  matters  connected  with  our  present 
subject,  the  ill-management  of  parents  must  be 
taken  into  account  as  one  of  the  most  common 
causes  of  this  sin.  It  is  very  sad  to  be  obliged  to 
say  this,  but  the  thing  is  true,  and  must  be  said. 
We  must  not,  however,  be  too  much  discouraged  at 
this,  for  the  truth  is,  that  to  perform  well  any  one 
of  the  great  relations  of  life  is  an  immense  difficulty  ; 
and  when  we  see  on  a  tombstone  (those  underneath 
can  now  say  nothing  to  the  contrary)  that  the  de- 
funct was  a  good  husband,  father,  and  son,  we  may 
conclude,  if  the  words  were  truthful,  that  we  are 
passing  by  the  mortal  remains  of  an  Admirable 
Crichton  in  morality.  And  these  relations  are  the 
more  dilficult,  as  they  are  not  to  be  completely  ful- 
filled by  an  abnegation  of  self,  in  other  words,  by  a 


COMPAXIOSS   OF  MY  SOLITCDE  93 

wenk  giving  wav  upon  all  points;  which  is  tlie  ruin 
of  many  a  person.  I  am  not,  however,  going,  in 
this  particular  case,  to  speak  of  the  spoiling  of 
children  in  the  ordinary  sense,  but  rather  of  the 
contrary  defect;  which,  strange  to  say,  is  quite  as 
common,  if  not  more  so.  Of  necessity  the  ages  of 
parents  and  children  are  separated  by  a  considerable 
interval ;  the  particular  relation  is  one  full  of  awe 
antl  autliorlty  ;  and  the  clfcct  of  that  disparity  of 
years,  and  of  tliat  natural  awe  and  authority,  may 
easily,  by  harsh  or  ungenial  parents,  be  strained  too 
far ;  other  persons,  and  the  world  in  general  (not 
caring  for  the  welfare  of  those  who  are  no  children 
of  theirs,  and  besides  using  the  just  courtesy 
towards  strangers),  are  often  tolerant  when  parents 
are  not  so,  which  puts  them  to  a  great  disadvantage  ; 
small  matters  are  often  needlessly  made  subjects  of 
daily  comment  and  blame  ;  and,  in  the  end,  it  comes 
that  home  is  sometimes  any  thing  but  the  happy 
place  we  choose  to  make  it  out,  in  songs  and  fictions 
of  various  kinds.  This,  when  it  occurs,  is  a  great 
pity.  I  am  for  making  home  very  happy  to  chil- 
dren if  it  can  be  managed  ;  which,  of  course,  is  not 
to  be  done  by  weak  compliances,  and  having  no 
lixed  rules.  For  no  creature  is  happy,  or  even  free, 
as   Goethe  has  pointed  out,  except  in  the  circuit  of 


94  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

law.  But  laws  and  regulations  having  once  been 
laid  down,  all  within  those  bounds  should  be  very 
kind  at  home.  Now  listen  to  the  captious  queru- 
lous scoldings  that  you  may  hear,  even  as  you  go 
along  the  streets,  addressed  by  parents  to  children  ; 
is  it  not  manifest  that  in  after  life  there  will  be  too 
much  fear  in  the  children's  minds,  and  a  belief  that 
their  father  and  mother  never  will  sympathize  with 
them  as  others  even  might  —  never  will  forgive 
them  ?  People  of  all  classes,  high  and  low,  err  in 
the  same  way ;  and,  in  looking  about  the  world,  I 
have  sometimes  thought  that  a  thoroughly  judicious 
father  is  one  of  the  rarest  creatures  to  be  met  with. 

Another  cause  of  the  frailty  of  women,  in  the 
lower  classes,  is  in  the  comparative  inelegance  and 
uncleanliness  of  the  men  in  their  own  class.  It  also 
arises  from  the  fondness  wliich  all  women  have  for 
merit,  or  what  they  suppose  to  be  such,  so  that  their 
love  is  apt  to  follow  what  is  in  any  way  distin- 
guished ;  and  this  throws  the  women  of  any  class 
cruelly  open  to  the  seductions  of  the  men  in  the 
class  above.  For  women  are  the  real  aristocrats ; 
and  it  is  one  of  their  greatest  merits.  Men's  intel- 
lects, even  some  of  the  brightest,  may  occasionally 
be  deceived  by  theories  about  equality  and  the  like, 


co.urAXioxs  or  .uy  solitude.  95 

but  women,  wlio  look  at  reality  more,  are  rarely  led 

away  by  nonsense  of  this  kind. 

A  cause  of  this  sin  of  a  very  different  kind,  and 

applyinij  to   men,   is  a  dreadful   notion  which  has 

occasionally   been    adopted    in     these     latter    ages, 

namely,  that   it  is   a  fme  thing  for  a  man  to  have 

gone   through  a  great  deal   of  vice  —  to  have  had 

much  personal  experience  of  wickeilness  ;  in  short, 

that  knowledge  of  vice  is  knowledge  of  the  world, 

and  that  such  knowledge  of  the  world  is  eminently 

useful.     That  is  not  the  way  in  which  the  greatest 

thinkers  read  the  world  ;  they  tell  us  that 

"The  Gods  approve  the  depth  and  not  the  tumult  of  the 
soul." 

Self-restraint  is  the  grand  thing,  is  the  great  tutor. 

But  let  us  not  talk  insincerely  even  for  a  good  end, 
as  we  may  suppose  ;  and  therefore  do  not  let  us  deny 
that  every  evil  carries  witii  it  its  teachings.  An  in- 
dulgence in  dissipation  teaches  that  dissipation  is  a 
fatal  thing  ;  and  the  man  who  learns  that,  very  often 
does  not  learn  any  thing  more.  But  the  excellence 
of  particular  men  must  greatly  consist  in  their  appre- 
ciating truths  without  having  to  pay  the  full  experi- 
ence for  them  ;  so  that  in  those  respects  they  have 
a  great  start  of  other  men.  However,  whether  these 
theories  of  mine  be  true  or  not,  there  can  be  no 


96  COMPANIONS    OF  M7  SOLITUDE. 

doubt,  I  think,  that  indulgence  of  any  kind  is  a  thing 
which  requires  no  theory  to  support  it ;  and  I  do  not 
think  it  will  be  found  that  the  men  of  consummate 
knowledge  of  the  world  have  gained  that  knowledge 
by  vice  ;  but  rather,  as  all  other  knowledge  is  gained, 
by  toil  and  truth  and  love  and  self-restraint.  And 
these  four  things  do  not  abide  with  vice. 

Probably,  too,  a  low  view  of  humanity  which  vice 
gives,  is  in  itself  the  greatest  barrier  to  the  highest 
knowledge. 

One  great  source  of  the  sin  we  are  considering  is 
the  want  of  other  thoughts.  Here  puritanism  comes 
in,  as  it  has  any  time  these  two  hundred  years,  to 
darken  and  deepen  every  mischief.  The  lower  or- 
ders here  are  left  with  so  little  to  think  of  but  labor 
and  vice.  Now,  any  grand  thought,  great  poetry, 
or  noble  song,  is  adverse  to  any  abuse  of  the  pas- 
sions —  even  that  which  seems  most  concerned  with 
the  passions.  For  all  that  is  great  in  idea,  that  in- 
sists upon  men's  attention,  does  so  by  an  appeal, 
expressed  or  implied,  to  the  infinite  within  him  anil 
around  him.  A  man  coming  from  a  great  repre- 
sentation of  Macbeth  is  not  in  the  humor  for  a  low 
intrigue  :  and,  in  general,  vice,  especially  of  the 
kind  we  are  considering,  seizes  hold  not  of  the  pas- 
sionate, so  much  as  of  the  cold  and  vacant  mind. 


COMPANIOXS    OF   MY  SOLITDDE.  97 

Oil  this  account  ccliication  ami  cultivation  are  to 
be  looked  to  as  potent  remedies.  The  pleasures  of 
the  poor  will  be  found  to  be  moral  safeguards  rather 
than  dangers.  I  smile  sometimes  when  I  think  of 
the  preacher  in  some  remote  country  place  implor- 
ing his  hearers  not  to  give  way  to  backbiting,  not 
to  indulge  in  low  sensualit}',  and  not  to  busy  them- 
selves with  other  people's  affairs.  Meanwhile  what 
are  they  to  do  if  they  do  not  concern  themselves 
with  such  things?  The  heavy  ploughboy,  who 
lounges  along  in  that  listless  manner,  has  a  mind 
which  moves  with  a  rapidity  that  bears  no  relation 
to  that  outward  heaviness  of  his.  That  mind  will 
be  fed  ;  will  consume  all  about  it,  like  oxygen,  if 
new  thoughts  and  aspirations  are  not  given  it.  The 
true  strategy  in  attacking  any  vice,  is  by  jjutting  in 
a  virtue  to  counteract  it;  in  attacking  any  evil 
thought,  by  putting  in  a  good  thought  to  meet  it. 
Thus  a  man  is  lifted  into  a  higher  state  of  being, 
and  his  old  slough  falls  off'  him. 

With  women,  too,  there  is  this  especial  danger, 
that  fiction  has  hitherto  been  apt  to  tell  them  that 
they  are  noticing  if  they  are  not  loved,  and  to  lill 
tlieir  heads  with  the  most  untrue  views  of  human 
life.  Fiction  must  try  and  learn  that  she  is  only 
Truth  with  a  mask  on,  so  that  she  may  speak  truer 
7 


98  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

things  sometimeswith  less  offence  than  Truth  herself. 
Fiction  must  not  represent  love  as  always  such  a 
very  fine  thing,  or  as  tending  invariably  to  felicity, 
thus  ignoring  the  trials  of  wedded  life,  and  of  affection 
generally,  —  as  if  life  v/ere  cut  into  two  parts,  one 
all  shade,  the  other  all  light.  We  cannot  school 
Love  much  ;  but  sometimes  he  might  be  induced  to 
listen  to  reason.  And  at  any  rate,  all  would  agree 
that  much  mischief  may  be  done  by  unsound  repre- 
sentations of  human  life  in  this  very  important 
respect. 

But,  our  antagonist  may  say,  these  very  fictions 
are  amusement,  and  so  for  of  use  as  furnishing  some 
food  for  the  mind.  Yes  :  and  I  am  not  prepared  to 
say  that  bad  fictions,  or  almost  any  thing,  may  not 
be  better  than  nothing  for  the  mind.  But  when 
continuous  cultivation  is  joined  to  education  (which 
should  be  the  object  for  statesmen  and  governing 
people  of  all  kinds),  people  will  not  be  supposed  to 
be  educated  at  the  time  of  their  non-age,  and  then 
left  sight  of  and  hold  of  for  evermore,  as  far  as  re- 
gards their  betters.  But  it  will  be  seen  that  we  are 
all  so  far  children,  or  at  least  like  children  in  some 
respects,  throughout  our  lives,  that  the  means  of 
cultivation  should  be  successively  ofiered  to  us. 

It  is  difficult  to  sec  the  drift  of  the  foregoing  words 


co.yfPAXfoys  of  ^fy  solitude.  99 

without  an  example.  But  what  I  mean  is  this, — 
do  not  let  us  merely  teach  our  poor  young  people 
to  read  and  write  and  hear  about  all  manner  of  arts, 
sciences,  and  productions,  and  then  dropping  these 
young  people  at  the  most  dangerous  age,  provide 
no  amusements,  enable  them  to  carry  on  no  pur- 
suits, throw  open  no  refinements  of  life  to  them, 
show  them  no  parks,  no  gardens,  and  leave  them 
to  the  pothouse  and  their  sordid  homes. 
Of  course  they  will  go  wrong  if  we  do. 

III.     The  Remedies. 

As  poverty  came  first  among  the  causes,  so  to  re- 
move it  must  come  first  among  the  remedies.  For 
this  jiurposc  let  it  be  carefully  obscn'ed  what  class 
of  persons  furnishes  most  victims  to  this  sin.  Try 
and  mend  the  evils  of  that  class. 

There  will  be  two  kinds  of  poverty,  the  one  arising 
from  gejieral  inadequacy  of  pay  for  employment 
that  is  pretty  constant ;  the  other  from  uncertainty  of 
employment  at  particular  periods.  Each  requires  to 
be  dealt  with  differently.  Frequently,  though,  they 
are  found  combined. 

To  meet  the  first  of  these  evils,  more  work  must 
be  found  in  the  country,  or  some  hands  must  be  re- 
moved out  of  it. 


lOO  COMPANIONS   OF  31 T  SOLITUDE. 

If  emigration  is  to  be  adopted,  it  should  be  done 
in  a  different  manner  from  any  that  has  yet  been 
attempted. 

But  it  seems  as  if  something  better  than,  or  be- 
sides, emigration  might  be  attempted. 

It  may  seem  romantic,  but  I  cannot  help  hoping 
tliat  considerable  investigation  into  prices  may  lead 
people  to  ascertain  better  what  are  fair  wages,  and 
that  purchases  will  not  run  madly  after  cheapness. 

There  are  everywhere  just  men  who  endeavor  to 
prevent  the  price  of  laborers'  wages  from  falling  be- 
low what  they  (the  just  men) 'think  right.  I  have 
no  doubt  that  this  has  an  effect  upon  the  whole  la- 
bor-market, Christianity  coming  in  to  correct  politi- 
cal economy.  And  so,  in  other  matters,  I  can  conceive 
that  private  persons  may  generally  become  more 
anxious  to  put  aside  the  evils  of  competition,  and  to 
give,  as  well  as  get,  what  is  fair. 

But  many  things  might  be  done  to  enable  the  wages 
of  the  poor  to  go  further :  and  surely  the  glory  of  a 
state,  and  of  the  principal  people  in  it,  should  be  that 
men  make  the  most  of  their  labor  in  that  state. 

Improvement  of  dwellings  is  one  means.* 

*  Many  a  workwoman  earns  but  75.  a  week.  She  has  to 
pay  3s.  or  3s.  6d.  for  one  miserable  apartment     Take  her 


CO^fPAXIOS'^    OF  MY  SOLITUDE.  loi 

Improvements  in  tlie  representation  and  transfer 
of  property  are  other  great  means  to  this  end. 

It  may  seem  that  I  have  wandered  far  from  the 
subject  (the  great  sin  of  great  cities)  to  questions  of 
currency  and  transfer  of  property.  But  I  am  per- 
suaded that  there  is  the  closest  connection  between 
subjects  of  this  kind.  The  investment  of  savings  is 
surely  a  question  of  the  highest  importance.  But  it 
is  not  that  only  which  I  mean.  All  manner  of  facil- 
ities should  be  given  to  the  poor  to  become  owners 
of  property  ;  and  wherever  it  could  be  managed,  al- 
most in  spite  of  themselves,  they  should  be  made 
so  :  that  is,  by  putting  by  portions  of  their  wages 
when  it  is  manifestly  possible  for  this  to  be  done, 
as  in  the  case  of  domestic  servants,  or  where  the  em- 
ployed are  living  with,  or  in  some  measure  under 
the  guidance  of,  their  employers. 

Much  is  being  attempted  by  various  benevolent 
persons  in  ways  of  this  kind  ;  and  the  greatest  atten- 
tion should  be  paid  to  these  experiments. 

fond  at  35.  or  25.  6d.,  and  there  will  remain  15.  a  week  to 
provide  for  clothing,  sickness,  charity,  pleasure,  and  mis- 
cellaneous expenditure  of  all  kinds.  It  is  easy  to  see  that 
any  sudden  mishap,  such  as  sickness,  must  wreck  such  a 
person's  means;  and  also  that  where  lies  the  chief  room 
for  making  these  means  go  further,  is  in  the  expenditure 
for  lodgings,  which  now  consumes  about  half  her  earnings. 


I02  COMPANIONS   OF  MT  SOLITUDE. 

Thei"e  are  various  things  which  the  state  could  do 
in  these  matters ;  but  it  would  require  a  very  wise 
and  great  government :  and  how  is  such  a  thing  to  be 
got?  In  the  act  of  rising  to  power,  men  fail  to  obtain 
the  knowledge  and  thought,  and  especially  the  pur- 
pose, to  use  power.  There  is  some  Eastern  proveib, 
I  think,  about  the  meanest  reptiles  being  found  at  the 
top  of  the  highest  towers.  That,  as  applied  to  gov- 
ernment, is  ill-natured  and  utterly  untrue.  But  people 
who  are  swarming  up  a  difficult  ascent,  or  maintain- 
ing themselves  with  difficulty  on  a  narrow  ledge  at  a 
great  height,  are  not  employed  exactly  in  the  way  to 
become  great  philosophers  and  reformers  of  mankind. 
Constitutional  governments  may  be  great  blessings, 
but  nobody  can  doubt  that  they  have  their  price. 
There  are,  however,  excellent  men  in  high  places 
amongst  us  at  the  present  moment ;  but  timidity  in 
attempting  good  is  their  portion,  especially  by  any 
way  that  has  not  become  thoroughly  invincible  in  ar- 
gument. I  suppose  that  any  man  who  should  try  some 
very  generous  thing  as  a  statesman,  and  should  fail, 
would  be  irretrievably  lost  as  a  statesman. 

Meanwhile  socialism  is  put  forward  to  fill  the  void 
of  government :  and  if  government  docs  not  make 
exertion,  we  may  yet  have  dire  tilings  to  encounter. 
By  government  in  the  foregoing  sentence  I  mean  not 


COMPANIONS    or  MY  i^OIATVDE.  103 

only  what  \vc  are  in  the  hahit  of  calHng  such,  but  all 
the  governing  and  directing  persons  in  a  nation. 
Some  of  them  are  certainly  making  great  eiforts  even 
now,  and  there  lies  our  hope. 

But,  supposing  that  the  supply  of  workmen  and 
workwomen  could  be  better  adapted  to  the  demand  ; 
and  that  means  could  be  found  to  provide  in  some 
measure  for  neutralizing  the  ill  ellccts  of  the  un- 
certainty of  employment  (which  two  things,  though 
very  difficult,  are  still  not  beyond  the  range  of  hu- 
man endeavor  and  accomplishment),  there  would 
yet  remain  many,  very  many,  individual  cases  of 
utter  and  sudden  distress  and  destitution  amongst 
young  women,  which  form  the  chief  causes  of  their 
fall.     Now,  how  are  these  to  be  averted  ? 

There  should  be  some  better  means  of  intercom- 
munication between  rich  and  poor  than  there  is  at 
present.  It  seems  as  if  the  priests  of  all  religions 
might  perform  that  function,  and  that  it  should  be 
considered  one  of  their  most  important  functions.  It 
bhould  be  done,  if  possible,  by  some  persons  who 
come  amongst  the  poor  for  other  purposes  than  to 
relieve  their  poverty.  At  the  same  time,  there  might 
be  an  administrative  officer  of  high  place  and  power 
in  the  government,  who  should   be  on   the   alert  to 


I04  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

suggest  and  promote  good  offices  of  the  kind  I  have 
just  alluded  to.  In  reality  the  Minister  of  educa- 
tion (if  we  had  one)  would  be  the  i^eal  minister  for 
destitution,  as  doing  most  to  prevent  it ;  and  various 
minor  duties  of  a  humane  kind  might  devolve  upon 
him. 

Any  one  acquainted  with  the  annals  of  the  poor 
will  tell  how  familiar  such  words  are  to  him  as  the 
following,  and  how  true  on  inquiry  he  has  found 
them.  "  Father  fell  ill  of  the  fever  "  {the  fever  the 
poor  girl  may  well  say,  for  it  is  the  fever  which  want 
of  air  and  water,  and  working  in  stifling  rooms,  have 
brought  upon  many  thousands  of  our  workmen)  ; 
"  mother  and  I  did  pretty  well  in  the  straw-bonnet 
line  while  she  liv^ed ;  but  she  died  come  April  two 
years :  and  I've  been  'most  starved  since  then,  and 
took  to  those  ways." 

"  You  were  fifteen  when  your  mother  died,  you 
say,  and  you  have  no  relations  in  this  town,? " 

"  There  is  my  little  brother,  and  he  is  in  the  work- 
house, and  they  let  me  go  and  see  him  on  Mondays  ; 
and  there  is  my  aunt,  but  she  is  a  very  poor  woman 
and  lives  a  long,  long  way  ofl',  and  has  a  many 
children  of  her  own." 

"You  can  read  and  write.?" 

"I  can  read  a  little." 


COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE.  105 

Now,  of  course,  there  are  thousands  of  cases  of 
this  kind,  in  which  one  feels  that  the  poor  child  has 
slipped  out  of  the  notice  and  care  of  people  who 
would  have  been  but  too  glad  to  aid  her.  I  dare 
say  neither  mother  nor  child  ever  went  to  any  church 
or  chapel.  And,  in  truth,  let  us  be  honest  and 
confess  that  going  to  church  in  England  is  somewhat 
of  an  operation,  especially  to  a  poor,  ill-clad  person. 
This  system  of  pews  and  places,  the  want  of  open- 
ness of  churches,  the  length  of  the  service  resulting 
from  the  admixture  of  services,  the  air  of  over- 
cleanliness  and  respectability  which  besets  the  place, 
and  the  difficulty  of  getting  out  when  you  like,  are 
sad  hindrances  to  the  poor,  the  ill-dressed,  the  sick, 
the  timid,  the  fastidious,  the  wicked,  and  the  culti- 
vated. 

And  then,  there  is  nobody  into  whose  ear  the  poor 
girl  can  pour  her  troubles,  except  she  comes  as  a 
beggar.  This  will  be  said  to  be  a  leaning  on  my 
part  to  the  confessional.  I  cannot  help  that ;  I 
must  speak  the  truth  that  is  in  me.  And  I  wish  that 
many  amongst  us  Protestants,  who  would,  I  doubt 
not,  welcome  the  duty,  could,  without  pledging  our- 
selves to  all  manner  of  doctrines,  but  merely  by  a 
genial  use  of  those  common  relations  of  life  which 
bring  us  in  daily  contact  with  the  poor,  fullil  much  of 


lOb  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

what  is  genuinely  good  in  the  functions  of  a  confes- 
sor, and  thus  become  brothers  of  mercy  and  brothers 
of  charity  to  the  poor. 

Meanwhile  it  is  past  melancholy,  and  verges  on 
despair,  to  reflect  upon  what  is  going  on  amongst 
ministers  of  religion,  who  are  often  but  too  intent 
upon  the  fopperies  of  religion  to  have  heart  and 
time  for  the  substantial  work  entrusted  to  them  — 
immersed  in  heart-breaking  trash  from  which  no  sect 
is  free ;  for  here  are  fopperies  of  discipline,  there 
fopperies  of  doctrine  (still  more  dangerous  as  it 
seems  to  me).  And  yet  there  are  these  words  re- 
sounding in  their  ears,  "  Pure  religion  and  undefiled 
is  this,  to  visit  the  fatherless  and  widows  in  their 
affliction,  and  to  keep  himself  unspotted  from  the 
world."  And  the  word  "  world,"  as  Coleridge  has 
well  explained,  is  this  order  of  things,  the  order  of 
things  you  are  in.  Clerical  niceness  and  over-sanc- 
tity, for  instance,  and  making  more  and  longer  ser- 
mons than  there  is  any  occasion  for,  and  insisting 
upon  needless  points  of  doctrine,  and  making  Chris- 
tianity a  stumbling-block  to  many,  — that,  excellent 
clergyman  (for  there  are  numbers  who  deserve  the 
name),  that  is  your  world,  there  lies  your  tempta- 
tion to  err. 

It  has   occurred   to   me  that  schoolmasters  and 


CO}frAXIOXS    OF  .1/1'  SOI.ITL'DE.  1 07 

schoolmistresses  would  form  good  means  of  com- 
munication willi  the  poor  :  and  so  much  the  better 
from  their  agency  being  indirect  as  regards  worldly 
aflairs;*  I  mean  that  their  first  business  is  not  to 
care  for  the  physical  well-being  of  their  pupils.  In 
after  life,  they  would  be  likely  to  know  something 
of  the  ways  and  modes  of  life  of  their  former  pupils, 
and  would  be  most  valuable  auxiliaries  to  landlords, 
master-manufacturers,  to  masters  in  general,  and  to 
all  who  are  anxious  to  improve  the  condition  of 
those  under  them. 

While  talking  of  the  schoolmaster,  we  must  not 
omit  to  consider  the  immense  importance,  in  its 
bearing  on  our  subject,  of  abetter  education  for  wo- 
men—  especially  for  women  of  what  are  called  the 
middling  classes — an  education  which  should  de- 
velop in  them  the  qualities  and  powers  which  they 
are  most  deficient  in,  such  as  stern  reasoning  ;  which 
is  at  tlie  foundation  of  justice,  and  which  should  free 
thcni  from  tliat  absurd  timidity  of  iiiind  more  than 

*  In  this  respect  the  opportunities  of  medical  men  are 
very  groat;  and  surely  the  medical  profession  best  eman- 
cipates itself  from  any  tendency  to  materialism,  and  dig- 
nifies itself  by  entering  upon  the  duties  and  the  privileges 
of  a  teacher  and  consoler,  when  it  performs,  as  it  very  of- 
ten docs,  some  of  those  offices  of  charity  which  ever  lie  just 
under  its  hands. 


Io8  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

of  body,  which  prevents  their  seeing  things  as  they 
are,  and  makes  them,  and  consequently  men,  the 
victims  of  conventionahty. 

This  thing,  conventionality,  is  a  great  enemy  to 
those  who  would  war  against  the  sin  we  are  con- 
sidering. Hypocrisy  is  said  to  be  the  homage  which 
vice  pays  to  virtue  ;  conventionality  is  the  adoration 
which  both  vice  and  virtue  offer  up  to  worldliness. 
See  its  ill  effects  in  this  particular  case.  The  dis- 
cussion of  our  subject  is  almost  beyond  the  pale  of 
conventionality.  Years  ago,  an  old  college  friend 
defined  this  present  writer  as  a  man  who  could  say 
the  most  audacious  tilings  with  the  least  offence.  I 
hope  my  friend  was  right,  for,  indeed,  in  discussing 
this  subject  I  need  all  that  power  now.  Conven- 
tionality stiffens  up  the  whole  figure  and  sets  the 
eyes  in  the  fixed  direction  it  pleases,  so  that  men 
and  women  can  2:)ass  through  the  streets  ignoring 
the  greatest  horrors  which  surround  them.  And 
consider  what  a  dangerous  thing  it  is,  when  it  is 
once  presumed  tluit  there  is  any  class  with  whom 
we  can  have  no  sympathy  ;  that  there  are  any  beings 
of  a  different  kind  from  the  rest  of  us.  It  is  not  for 
us,  collections  of  dust,  to  feel  contempt.  In  a  future 
life  we  may  have  such  a  survey  as  may  justify  con- 


co^fPA^'/oxs  of  j/t  solitude. 


[09 


tempt,  but  then  wc  should  have  too  much  love  to 
feel  it.  But,  indeed,  in  most  cases,  it  is  not  con- 
tempt, but  conventionality,  that  induces  us  to  pass  by 
and  ignore  what  it  is  not  consistent  with  good  taste 
to  know  any  thing  about. 

But  there  is  another  fertile  mode  in  whicli  conven- 
tionality works  in  increasing  the  great  sin  of  great 
cities.  And  that  is  by  rendeiing  all  manner  of  im- 
aginary wants  real  wants,  and  thus  helping  to  en- 
slave men  and  women.  False  shame  has  often,  I 
doubt  not,  led  to  the  worst  consequences,  —  the 
shame,  for  instance,  arising  from  not  having  the 
clothes  of  a  kind  imagined  to  be  fit  for  a  particular 
station  ;  and  so,  people  suljmit  to  a  vice  to  satisfy  a 
foible. 

A  class  of  persons  who  are  found  to  furnish  great 
numbers  of  the  victims  to  the  sin  we  are  considering, 
is  that  of  domestic  servants.  This  leads  to  a  suspi- 
cion that  there  are  peculiar  temptations,  weaknesses, 
errors,  and  mismanagement  incident  to  that  class. 
Their  education,  to  begin  with,  is  wretchedly  defec- 
tive. Rut  besides  that,  they  are  particularly  liable 
to  the  slavery  of  conventionality :  indeed,  there  are 
few  people  more  subdued  by  weak  notions  of  what 
it  is  correct  for  them  to  have,  and  to  be,  and  to  do : 


no  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

which  often  ends  in  any  thing  but  a  correspondence 
of  the  reality  of  their  condition  with  their  ideal.  It 
must  be  remembered,  too,  that  they  undergo,  in  an 
especial  degree,  the  temptation  of  being  brought 
near  to  a  class  superior  to  theirs  in  breeding  and 
niceness  ;  and,  consequently,  that  they  are  very  liable 
to  be  discontented  with  their  own. 

But  great  improvement  might  be  made  in  the  man- 
agement of  servants.  Their  efforts  to  save  money 
should  be  directed  and  aided.  New  means  might 
be  invented  for  that  purpose.  It  might  be  much 
more  generally  arranged  than  it  is,  both  in  house- 
holds and  in  other  establishments,  that  a  fund  should 
be  formed  out  of  which  those  female  servants  who 
remained  a  certain  time  should  have  a  sum  of  mon- 
ey, in  fact  what  in  official  life  is  called  "  retired  al- 
lowances." 

Then,  of  course,  masters  and  mistresses  should 
recognize  the  fact,  instead  of  needlessly  discourag- 
ing it,  that  men  and  women  love  one  another  in  all 
ranks,  —  that  Mary,  if  a  pleasant  or  comely  girl,  is 
pretty  nearly  sure  at  some  time  or  other  to  have  a 
lover.  Let  the  master  and  mistress  be  aware  of  that 
fact,  and  treat  it  as  an  open  question  which  may  be 
discussed  sometimes,  with  advantage  to  all  parties. 

Instead  of  sucli  conduct,  one  hears  sometimes  that 


COMPANIONS    OF  MY  SOLITUDi:.  in 

such  maxims  arc  laid  down  as  tliat  "  no  followers 
are  allowed."  What  does  a  lady  mean  who  lays 
down  such  a  law  in  her  household?  Perhaps  she 
subscribes  to  some  abolition  society  ;  which  is  a  good 
thing  in  as  far  as  it  cultivates  her  kindly  feelings 
towards  an  injured  race.  But  does  she  know  that, 
by  this  law  of  hers,  as  applied  to  her  own  house- 
hold, she  is  imitating,  in  a  humble  way,  one  of  the 
worst  things  connected  with  slavery.'' 

As  this  prohibition  extends  to  near  relations  as 
well  as  to  lovers,  if  obeyed  it  renders  the  position 
of  a  servant-girl  still  more  perilous  as  more  isolat- 
ed ;  and,  if  tlisobeyed,  it  is  a  fertile  source  of  the 
habit  of  concealment,  one  of  the  worst  to  which  all 
persons  in  a  subordinate  situation  are  prone. 

For  my  own  part,  I  could  not  bear  to  live  with 
servants  who  were  to  see  none  of  their  friends  and 
relations :  I  should  feel  I  was  keeping  a  prison,  and 
not  ruling  a  household. 

Amongst  the  principal  lemedies  must  be  reckoned, 
or  at  least  hoped  for,  an  improvement  in  men  as 
regards  this  sin.  To  hope  for  such  an  improve- 
ment will  be  looked  upon  as  chimerical  by  some 
persons,  and  the  notion  of  introducing  great  moral 
remedies  for  the  evil  in  questi(jn  as  wholly  romantic. 


113  COMPANIONS    OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

It  seems   impossible :    every  new  and  great  thing 

does,  till  it  is  done  ;  and  then  the  only  wonder  is 

that  it  was  not  done  long  ago. 

Oh  that  there  weie  more  love  in  the  world,  and 

then  these  things  that  we  deplore  could  not  be.    One 

would  think  that  the  man  who  had  once  loved  any 

woman,  would  have  some  tenderness  for  all.     And 

love  implies  an  infinite  respect.     All  that  was  said 

or  done  by  Chivalry  of  old,  or  sung  by  Troubadours, 

but  shadows  forth  the  feeling  which  is  in  the  heart 

of  any  one  who  loves.     Love,  like  the  opening  of 

the  heavens  to  the  Saints,  shows  for  a  moment,  even 

to  the  dullest  man,  the  possibilities  of  the  human 

race.     He  has  faith,  hojie,  and  charity  for  another 

being,  perhaps  but  a  creation  of  his  imagination  : 

still  it  is  a  great  advance  for  a  man  to  be  profoundly 

loving  even    in   his    imaginations.      What  Shelley 

makes  Apollo  exclaim,  Love  might  well  say  too:  — 

"  I  am  the  eye  witli  which  the  Universe 
Beholds  itself  and  knows  itself  divine; 
All  harmony  of  instriunent  or  verse, 

All  prophecy,  all  medicine  are  mine, 
All  light  of  art  or  nature;  —  to  my  son?^ 
Victory  and  praise  in  their  own  right  belong." 

Indeed,  love  is  a  thing  so  deep  and  so  beautiful, 
that  each  man  feels  that  nothing  but  conceits  and 
pretty  words  have  been  said  about  it  by  other  men. 


CO.\fPAX/OXS    OF  MY  SOLITUDE.  II3 

And  then  to  come  down  from  this  and  to  dishonor 
the  image  of  the  things  so  loved.  No  man  could  do 
so  while  the  memory  of  love  was  in  his  mind.  Anil, 
indeed,  even  without  these  recollections,  we  miglit 
hope  that,  on  the  contemplation  of  so  much  ruin, 
and  tlie  consideration  of  the  exquisite  beauty  of  the 
thing  spoiled,  there  would  sometimes  come  upon 
the  heart  of  a  man  a  pity  so  deep  as  to  protect  him 
from  this  sin  as  much  as  aversion  itself  could  do. 
And  we  may  imagine  that  even  men  of  outrageous 
dissipation,  but  who  have  still  left  some  greatness 
and  fineness  of  mind  (like  Mirabeau  for  example), 
will  have  a  horror  of  the  sin  we  are  condemning, 
though  very  sinful  in  otlicr  respects.  And  certainly 
the  disgrace  to  humanity  that  there  is  in  indiscrim- 
inate prostitution  is  appalling  :  and,  like  constrained 
marriage  for  money,  it  has  something  more  repul- 
sive about  it  than  is  to  be  met  with  in  things  that 
may  be  essentially  more  wicked. 

I  hope  I  am  not  uncharitable  in  saying  this ;  but 
anybody  who  thinks  so  must  remember  that  what 
is  alluded  to  by  me  is  the  worst  form  of  the  sin  in 
question  ;  as  in  fact  it  disgraces  the  streets  of  our 
principal  cities  —  in  utter  lovelessness  and  mercenary 
recklessness. 


8 


114  COMPANIONS   OF  MT  SOLITUDE. 

I  said  above,  "  the  exquisite  beauty  of  the  thing 
spoiled."  And,  in  truth,  how  beautiful  a  thing  is 
youth  —  beautiful  in  an  animal.  In  contemplating 
it,  the  world  seems  young  again  for  us.  Each  young 
thing  seems  born  to  new  hopes.  Parents  feel  this 
for  their  children,  hoping  that  something  will  happen 
to  them  quite  different  from  what  happened  to  them- 
selves. They  would  hardly  take  all  the  pains  they 
do  with  these  young  creatures,  if  they  could  believe 
that  the  young  people  were-^nly  to  grow  up  into 
middle-aged  men  and  women  with  the  usual  cares 
and  troubles  descending  upon  them  like  a  securely 
entailed  inheritance.  There  is  something  fanciful  in 
all  this,  and  in  reality  a  grown-up  person  is  a  much 
more  valuable  and  worthy  creature  than  most  young 
ones;  but  still  any  thing  that  blights  the  young 
must  ever  be  most  repugnant  to  humanity. 

I  had  now  read  over  all  that  I  had  put  down  in 
writing  ;  and,  as  I  laid  aside  the  manuscript,  I  felt 
how  sadly  it  fell  short  of  wliat  I  had  thought  to  say 
on  tliis  subject.  I  suppose,  however,  that  even  when 
tliey  arc  good,  a  man's  words  seem  poor  to  himself, 
for  the  workman  is  too  familiar  with  the  wrong  side 
of  all  his  workmanship.  ISIoreover,  much  must 
always  lie  in  the  ear  of  the  liearcr.     Wc  say  enough 


COMrANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE.  115 

to  set  alight  the  liidden  trains  of  thought  which  abide 
in  the  recesses  of  men's  licarts,  unknown  to  them  ; 
and  they  are  startled  into  thinking  for  themselves. 
After  all,  it  is  not  often  so  requisite  for  a  writer  to 
make  things  logically  clear  to  men,  as  to  put  them 
into  the  mood  he  wishes  to  have  them  in.  I  sup- 
pose the  snake-charmer  and  tlie  horse-whisperer 
have  some  such  scheme. 

But,  said  I,  as  I  threw  some  stones  into  a  pool 
which  was  near  me  in  a  partial  clearing  of  the  wood, 
I  would  go  on  with  this  work  if  I  knew  that  all  my 
eflbrts  would  make  no  more  stir  than  these  pebbles 
in  that  pool.  And  then  I  proceeded  to  think  of  the 
topics  which  are  yet  before  me,  full  of  doubt  and 
difficulty.  I  should  like  to  have  some  talk  with 
Ellesmere,  I  exclaimed ;  I  fear  he  will  have  no 
sympathy  with  me,  and  an  utter  disbelief  in  anybody 
doing  any  good  in  this  matter.  But  he  is  a  slirewd 
man  of  the  world,  and  he  speaks  out  fearlessly.  It 
would  be  well  to  hear  his  remarks  beforehand, 
while  they  may  yet  be  of  use  to  me.  I  certainly 
will  consult  him. 

I  stcpt  out  of  the  wood  into  the  beaten  road,  a 
change  which  I  always  feel  to  be  like  that  which 
occurs  in  the  mind  of  a  man  who,  having  been 
wrapt  in  some  romance  of  his  own,  suddenly  discn- 


Il6  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

gages  himself  from  it  and  talks  with  his  fellows 
ui^on  the  ordinary  topics  of  the  day,  affecting  a 
shrewd  care  about  the  price  of  corn  and  the  state 
of  our  foreign  relations. 

By  the  time  I  reached  Worth- Ashton  I  had  left 
all  forest  thoughts  well  behind  me,  and  was  quite 
at  home  on  the  broad  beaten  road  of  common-place 
affairs. 


CHAPTER  VIL 

T  HAVE  read  the  foregoing  notes  to  Ellcsmere, 
"^  whom  I  asked  to  come  here  the  first  hxwycr's 
holiday  that  he  could  make.  During  the  reading, 
which  was  in  my  study,  he  said  nothing,  but  seemed, 
as  I  thought,  unusually  grave  and  attentive.  When 
it  was  finished,  he  proposed  that  we  shoultl  walk 
out  upon  the  downs.  Still  he  made  no  remark, 
but  strolled  on  moodily,  until  I  said  to  him,  "  I  am 
afraid,  Ellesmere,  you  have  some  heavy  brief  which 
sits  upon  your  mind  just  now ;  or,  perhaps,  I  have 
somcwliat  wearied  you  in  reading  so  much  to  you 
upon  a  subject  about  which  you  probably  do  not 
care  much."  "  I  care  more  than  you  do,"  he  re- 
plied—  "forgive  my  abruptness,  Milverton,  but 
what  I  say  is  true.  To  show  you  why  I  do  care 
would  be  to  tell  you  a  long  story,  and  to  betray  to 
you  tliat  which  I  had  never  intended  to  tell  mortal 
man. 

"But,  if  you  care  to  hear  it,  I  will  tell  you;  it 
bears  closely  upon  some  of  your  views,  and  may 
modify  them  in  some  way.  I  can  talk  to  you  on 
such  a  theme  better  than  to  almost  any  man,  for  it 


Il8  COMPANIONS   OF  M7  SOLITUDE. 

is  like  talking  to  a  philosophic  system  ;  and  yet 
there  is  still  some  humanity  left  in  you,  so  that  one 
may  hope  for  a  little  sympathy  now  and  then  with- 
out having  too  much,  or  being  afflicted  with  pity 
and  wonder  and  foolish  exclamations  of  any  kind." 
I  did  not  interrupt  him  to  defend  myself,  being  too 
anxious  to  hear  what  he  had  to  say.  Besides  I  saw 
this  attack  upon  me  was  partly  an  excuse  to  himself 
for  telling  me  something  which  he  hardly  meant  to 
tell.  He  threw  himself  down  upon  the  turf,  and, 
after  a  few  minutes'  silence,  thus  began : — 

Well,  I  was  once  upon  my  travels  staying  for  a 
few  days  in  a  German  town,  not  a  very  obscure  or 
a  very  renowned  one  ;  but  indeed  the  whereabouts 
is  a  very  unimportant  matter,  and  I  do  not  particu- 
larize any  of  the  minute  circumstances  of  my  story, 
because  I  do  not  wish  hereafter  to  be  reminded  of 
them.  I  remember  it  was  on  a  Sunday,  and  the 
day  was  fine.  I  remember,  too,  I  went  to  church, 
to  a  Protestant  church,  where  I  did  not  understand 
much  of  what  I  heard,  but  liked  what  I  did.  They 
sang  psalms,  such  as  I  fancy  Luther  would  have 
approved  of;  and  I  thought  it  would  be  a  serious 
thing  for  a  hostile  army  to  meet  a  body  of  men  who 
had  been  thus  singing.     Grand  music,  such  as  you, 


COMPANIOSS   OF  ^fY  SOLITUDE.  119 

for  instance,  would  like  better,  is  a  good  thing  too. 
Our  cathedrals  might  have  combined  both.  I  do 
not  know  why  I  tell  you  all  this,  for  it  does  not  im- 
mediately concern  my  story,  but  I  suppose  it  is 
because  I  do  not  like  to  approach  it  too  quickly,  and 
I  must  linger  on  the  details  of  a  day  which  is  so 
deeply  imprinted  upon  my  memory.  I  remember 
well  the  sermon,  or  rather  tlie  bits  of  it  which  I 
understood,  and  out  of  which  I  made  my  sermon 
for  myself.  Tliat  pathetic  word  vcrloren  (lost) 
occurred  many  times.  Then  there  was  a  great  deal 
about  the  cares  of  this  life  occupying  so  much  time, 
and  then  aliout  the  pleasures,  or  the  thoughts  of 
misspent  youth  being  impressed  upon  manhood,  to 
the  perennial  detriment  of  the  character.  I  made 
out,  or  fancied  I  did,  that  it  was  a  sermon  showing 
how  short  a  time  was  given  to  spiritual  life.  I  dare 
say  it  was  a  very  common-place  sermon  that  I  made 
of  it ;  but  somehow,  the  sermons  we  preach  to  our- 
selves, in  which,  by  the  way,  we  can  be  sure  of 
taking  the  most  apt  illustrations  from  the  store  of 
our  own  follies,  are  always  interesting.  And  when 
the  good  preacher,  a  most  benign  and  apostolic- 
looking  man,  pronounced  the  benediction,  I  felt  as 
if  I  had  been  hearing  some  friendly  searching  words 
which  misht  well  be  laid  to  heart.     After  the  scr- 


120  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

mon  was  over,  I  strolled  about.  The  day  moved 
on,  and  towards  evening  time,  I  went  with  the 
stream  of  the  towns-people,  gentle  and  simple,  to 
some  public  gardens  which  lay  outside  the  town  and 
were  joined  to  it  by  beautiful  walks.  People  speak 
of  the  sadness  of  being  in  a  crowd  and  knowing  no 
one.  There  is  something  pleasurable  in  it  too.  I 
wandered  amongst  the  various  groups  of  quiet, 
decorous,  beei'-imbibing  Germans,  who,  in  family- 
parties,  had  come  out  to  these  gardens  to  drink 
their  beer,  smoke  their  pipes,  and  hear  some  music. 
In  those  unfortunate  regions  they  have  not  made  a 
ghastly  idol  of  the  Sunday. 

At  last  I  sat  down  at  a  table  where  a  young  girl 
and  a  middle-aged  woman,  who  carried  a  baby,  were 
refreshing  themselves  with  some  very  thin  potation. 
They  looked  poor  decent  people.  I  soon  entered 
into  conversation  with  them,  and  therefore  did  not 
leave  it  long  a  matter  of  doubt  that  I  was  an  Eng- 
lishman. I  perceived  that  something  was  wrong 
with  my  friends,  although  I  could  not  comprehend 
what  it  was.  I  could  see  that  the  girl  could  hardly 
restrain  herself  from  bursting  into  tears  ;  and  there 
was  something  quite  comical  in  the  delight  she  ex- 
pressed at  some  feats  on  the  tight-rope,  which  she 
would  insist  upon  my  looking  at,  and  her  then,  in  a 


COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE.  121 

minute  afterwards,  returning  to  her  quiet  distress 
and  anxious  deplorable  countenance.  A  proud 
English  girl  would  have  kept  all  her  misery  under 
due  control,  especially  in  a  public  place;  but  these 
Germans  arc  a  more  simple  natural  people. 

Having  by  degrees  established  soine  relations  be- 
tween the  party  and  myself  by  ordering  some  coU'ee 
and  handing  it  round,  and  then  letting  the  baby  play 
with  my  watch,  I  asked  what  it  was  that  ailed  the 
girl.  The  girl  turned  round  and  poured  out  a  tor- 
rent of  eloquence,  which,  however,  considerably  ex- 
ceeding the  pace  at  which  any  foreign  language 
enters  into  my  apprehension,  was  totally  lost  upon 
me ;  except  that  I  perceived  she  had  some  com- 
plaint against  somebody,  and  that  she  had  a  noble 
open  countenance  which,  from  long  experience  of 
the  witness-box,  I  felt  was  telling  me  an  unusual 
proportion  of  truth.  One  part  of  the  discourse  I 
perceived  very  clearly  to  be  about  money,  and  as 
she  touched  her  gown  (which  was  very  neat  and 
nice),  it  had  something  to  do  with  the  price  of  the 
said  gown. 

We  then  talked  of  Englantl,  whereupon  she  asked 
me  to  take  her  with  me  as  a  servant.  This  abrupt 
speech  might  astonish  some  persons :  but  not  those 
who  have  travelled  much.  I  dare  say  the  same  re- 
quest has  often  been  made  to  you,  Milverton. 


122  COMPANIONS    OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

Milverton.  Oh,  yes.  They  fancy  this  is  an  earth- 
ly paradise  for  getting  money,  bounded  by  a  contin- 
ual fog. 

Ellesmere.  She  then  questioned  me  much  as  to 
the  distance  of  England  from  where  we  were.  And 
as  I  saw  she  was  in  a  desperate  mood,  and  might 
attempt  some  desperate  adventure,  I  took  care  to 
explain  to  her  the  distance  and  the  difficulties  of 
the  journey.  Besides  which,  I  contrived,  putting 
the  severest  pressure  on  my  stock  of  German,  to 
convey  to  her  that  London  was  rather  an  extensive 
town,  containing  two  millions  of  people,  and  that  it 
was  not  exactly  the  place  for  an  unfriended  young 
girl  to  be  wandering  about. 

"  The  same  thing  everywhei"e,  everywhere,"  she 
exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of  mournful  reproach,  which  I 
felt  was  levelled  at  our  unchivalrous  sex  in  general. 

I  felt  interested  to  understand  her  story,  and  be- 
ginning to  question  her  in  detail  again,  ascertained 
so  far,  that  she  was  or  had  been  a  servant,  that  she 
had  been  accustomed  to  take  charge  of  childien, 
having  had  eleven  under  her  charge,  that  the  wages 
were  most  wi'etched,  which  they  certainly  were ; 
but  still,  it  was  not  that  or  any  of  the  ordinary  kind 
of  grievances  which  was  now  distressing  her.  When- 
ever we  came  to  the  gist  of  the  discourse,  she  be- 


COMPANIONS  or  jrr  solitude.         123 

came  more  emphatic  and  I  more  stupid.  At  last  I 
bethought  me  tliat  if  she  were  to  write  out  what 
she  had  to  say,  I  could  then  understand  it  well 
enough.  This  was  a  bright  idea,  and  one  which  I 
was  able  to  convey  to  her.  She  was  to  bring  me 
the  writing  on  tlie  ensuing  morning  in  the  great 
square.  And  having  come  to  this  agreement  we 
parted  ;  I  taking  care,  with  lawyer-like  caution,  to 
tell  her  that  I  did  not  know  whether  I  could  be  of 
Any  use  to  her,  with  other  discouraging  expressions. 

The  next  morning,  duly  fortified  with  my  pocket 
dictionary,  I  sat  myself  down  to  read  her  statement. 
Ah,  how  clearly  the  whole  scene  is  before  mc.  It 
was  on  a  broad  bench,  close  to  a  hackney-coach 
stand,  within  sight  of  the  palace.  She  looked  over 
me  and  read  aloud  ;  and  when  I  could  not  make 
out  a  word,  we  paused,  and  the  dictionary  was  put 
in  requisition.  The  nearest  hackney-coachman  ly- 
ing back  on  his  box  threw  now  and  then  an  amused 
glance  at  the  proceeding.  Hers  was  a  simple 
touching  story,  touchingly  told.  I  now  know  every 
word,  every  letter  of  it ;  but  then  it  was  very  hard 
for  me  to  comprehend. 

It  began  by  giving  her  birth,  parentage,  and  edu- 
cation. She  was  born  of  poor  parents  in  the  coun- 
try, a  few  miles  out  of  the  town.     She  was  now  an 


124  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

orphan.  She  had  come  into  service  in  the  town. 
Her  master  had  endeavored  to  seduce  her ;  but  she 
had  succeeded  in  giving  some  notion  of  her  misera- 
ble position  to  a  middle-aged  man,  and  friend  of  her 
family,  who  had  taken  an  interest  in  her,  and  prom- 
ised to  receive  her  into  his  service.  Then  she  gave 
warning  to  her  mistress,  who  could  not  imagine 
the  cause,  and  was  displeased  at  her  leaving.  She 
could  not  tell  her  mistress  for  fear  of  vexing  her. 

The  character  given  by  the  mistress  (which  I  saw) 
went  well  with  this  statement,  as  it  was  the  praise 
of  a  person  displeased. 

The  new  master  that  was  to  be,  had  told  her 
where  to  go  to  (the  lodgings  where  she  was  now 
staying),  and  ordered  her  to  get  decent  clothes  be- 
fore coming  into  his  service.  He  did  not  live  in 
that  town.  She  left  her  place  accordingly,  provided 
herself  with  the  necessary  things,  and  awaited  his 
orders.  Meanwhile  his  plans  were  changed.  He 
had  just  married,  was  probably  about  to  travel,  and 
wrote  that  he  could  not  take  her  in.  I  am  not  sure 
that  there  was  any  deliberate  wrong-doing  or  treach- 
ery on  his  part  —  merely  a  wicked  carelessness ; 
forgetting  what  a  thing  it  is  for  a  poor  girl  to  be  out 
of  place,  and  not  knowing  that  she  had  taken  the 
step,  perhaps,  at  the  time  he  wrote.     She  had  writ- 


CO.UPAXIOXS    OF  J/F  SOLITUDE.  125 

ten  again,  and  had  received  no  answer.  She  was 
left  in  debt  and  in  the  utmost  distress. 

This  is  the  substance  of  what  I  eventually  got  out 
by  cross-examination.  She  had  been  out  into  the 
suburbs  in  search  of  a  place  when  I  met  her  yester- 
day. The  woman  witli  the  child,  who  was  no  rela- 
tion, had  reiterated  to  me  there  that  she  was  a  good 
girl  and  in  great  distress. 

The  usual  wicked  easy  way  of  getting  out  of  her 
difficulties  had  been  pressed  upon  her  —  /c/i  mag 
das  Geld  nicht  aiif  eine  schlcchte  Art  bekommcn^ 
sonst  vjurde  ich  es  in  ktirzer  Zeit  haben;  but  she 
trusted  that  "the  dear  God  would  never  permit  this, 
so  she  put  her  trust  in  him."  Ich  hoffc  aber^  dcr 
Hebe  Gott  ivird  das  nicht  zugebcn,  denn  ich  ver^ 
lasse  mich  atij"  Ihn. 

I  remember  that,  occasionally,  while  we  were 
spelling  over  what  she  had  written,  her  large  beau- 
tiful hand  (do  not  smile,  Milverton,  a  hand  may  be 
most  beautiful  and  yet  large)  rested  on  the  page. 
There  was  a  deep  scar  upon  it,  the  mark  of  a  burr, 
tliat  told  of  some  household  mishap.  I  have  seen 
many  beautiful  hands  before  and  after,  but  none  so 
beautiful  to  me. 

At  last  we  got  through  the  writing  and  paused. 
"  This     is    a    bad    business,"    I    exclaimed  ;     and 


126  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

then  I  fell  into  a  reverie,  not  upon  her  particular 
case  so  much,  as  upon  the  misery  that  there  is  in 
the  world.  At  last  I  looked  up  and  felt  quite  re- 
morseful at  the  wistful  agonized  expression  of  the 
girl,  whom  I  had  been  keeping  in  suspense  all  this 
tmie  while  indulging  my  own  thoughts.  She  evi- 
dently thought  (you  know  the  extremely  careless  ill- 
dressed  figui'e  I  generally  am)  that  to  assist  her  was 
quite  out  of  my  power.  And  so  it  was  at  the  mo- 
ment, for  I  had  not  the  requisite  silver  about  me. 
Indeed  why  should  the  rich  carry  any  money  about 
with  them,  when  they  have  always  the  poor  to  bor- 
row it  from?  However,  I  had  some  silver  in  my 
pocket  and  gave  her  that,  promising  to  bring  the 
rest.  Her  ecstasy  was  unbounded :  of  course  she 
began  to  cry  (no  woman  is  ftbove  that)  ;  though 
seeing  my  excessive  dislike  to  that  proceeding,  she 
did  the  best  to  suppress  it,  only  indulging  in  an  oc- 
casional sob.  Her  first  idea  was  what  she  could  do 
for  the  money.  She  would  work  for  any  time.  We 
had  found  out  that  writing  was  better  than  talking  ; 
and  here  are  her  very  words  (I  always  carry  them 
about  with  me),  "  Was  soil  ich  Ihnen  fiir  einen 
Dicnst  dafur  thunf^  "  What  shall  I  do  for  you 
in  the  way  of  any  service  for  this?"  "Nothing," 
I  replied,  "  but  only  to  be  a  good  girl." 


co^[rAXIOss  or  j/r  solitude.         127 

One  thinc^  I  have  omitted  to  tell  you  :  but  I  may 
as  well  tell  it.  It.  is  no  matter  now.  While  we 
were  reading  over  the  letter,  I  happened  to  ask  her 
whether  she  had  a  lover.  I  had  hardly  asked  the 
question  before  I  woukl  have  given  any  thing  to 
have  been  able  to  recall  it,  as  we  sometimes  do  in 
Court  when  a  question  is  objected  to.  Her  simple 
answer  came  crushing  into  my  ears,  "Yes,  but  a 
poor  man  and  far  away."  She  thought  my  object 
in  asking  was  to  ascertain  whether  there  was  any 
help  to  be  got  from  any  other  quarter :  this  she  an- 
swered, so  like  her  sensible  self,  without  any  bri- 
dling-up  or  nonsense  of  any  kind  —  a  simple  answer 
to  a  simple  question.  But  the  words  went  down 
like  a  weight  into  my  heart,  whicli  has  never  been 
quite  lifted  ofl'  again.     In  short,  ISlilverton,  I  loved. 

What  should  possess  me  to-day  to  tell  you  this 
wild  story,  I  know  not.  I  know  you  really  care  for 
nothing  but  great  interests  and  great  causes,  as  you 
call  them.  With  intense  mad  love  for  any  one  hu- 
man being  you  cannot  sympathize.  I  always  noted 
the  same  in  you  from  your  boyhood  upwards.  Talk 
to  you  of  a  body  of  men  —  of  a  class  —  of  a  mil- 
lion, for  instance,  of  people  suHering  any  thing,  and 
you  arc  immediately  interested.  But  for  anyone  of 
us  you  care  nothing.    I  see  through  you,  and  always 


128  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

have.     But  I  like  you.     Do   not  answer  me,  you 
know  it  is  true. 

I  did  not  answer  him  ;  though  knowing  what  he 
said  to  be  most  untrue,  and  yet  to  have  just  that  dash 
of  plausibility  in  it  which  makes  injustice  so  hard  to 
unravel.  He  proceeded.  I  saw  Gretchen  (that  was 
her  name)  more  than  once  again,  and  had  a  great 
deal  of  talk  with  her,  finding  my  first  impressions 
amply  verified  ;  and  I  still  think  her  one  of  the  best 
intellects,  and  most  beautiful  natures,  I  have  ever 
seen.  I  had  in  my  pocket  a  very  learned  letter  from 
one  of  the  German  Professors  of  law  to  whom  I  had 
delivered  a  letter  of  introduction  on  passing  through 
his  town,  on  some  points  of  jurisprudence,  referring 
to  vSavigny's  work.  The  parts  of  this  which  had  been 
unintelligible  I  made  her  construe  to  me  ;  some  of  it 
was  quite  independent  of  technicalities,  but  merely 
required  hard  thinking  and  clear  explanation.  The 
girl  with  my  help  made  it  all  out.  But  of  course  it 
was  not  of  such  themes  that  she  liked  to  talk  ;  for 
women  love  personal  talk,  and  their  care  is  to  know, 
not  what  men  think  about,  but  what  they  feel.  One 
speech  of  hers  dwells  in  my  mind.  "You  must  be 
very  happy  at  home,"  she  said.  I  thought  of  my 
mouldy  chambers  and  the  kind  of  life  I  lead,  and 
replied  with  an  irony  I  could  not  check,  "  Very  :  " 
and  so  satisfied  her  gentle  questionings. 


roMPA.y/oxs  or  .ur  solitude.         129 

I  did  not  delay  my  departure  lont^cr  tlian  I  had  at 
first  intended  ;  for  in  these  cases  when  you  have  done 
any  good,  it  is  well  to  be  sure  you  do  not  spoil  it  in 
any  way.  She  would  not  have  any  more  money  than 
a  trifling  sum  that  was  a  little  more  than  sufficient  to 
pay  ofl'  the  debts  already  due,  and  they  amounted 
to  the  very  same  sum  she  had  originally  mentioned 
to  me  in  the  gardens.  We  parted.  Before  parting 
she  begged  me  to  tell  her  my  name  :  then  timidly  she 
kissed  my  hand  ;  and,  bursting  into  tears,  threw  her 
hood  over  her  face  and  hurried  away  a  little  distance. 
Afterwards  I  saw  her  turn  to  watch  the  departure  of 
the  huge  diligence  in  which  I  had  ensconced  myself. 

^lilvcrton.     And  you  never  saw  her  any  more? 

Ellcsvicrc.  Once  more.  Not  being  a  philosopher 
or  a  philanthropist,  I  do  not  easily  forget  those  I  once 
care  for.  I  studied  how  to  protect  her  in  every  way. 
I  mastered  the  politics  of  that  German  town  ;  and 
learnt  all  the  intricacies  of  the  little  Court  there.  I 
ascertained  everything  respecting  our  relations  with 
it,  aiul  who  amongst  our  diplomatists  was  desirous  of 
the  residence  there,  when  there  should  be  a  change. 
I  busied  myself  more  in   politics  than  I  had  done ; 

antl  I  believe  I  must  own  that  my  speech  on  the 

intervention,  whicli  had  its  merits  and  cost  me  great 
labor,  was  spoken  for  Gretchen.     Of  course,  I  need 

9 


130  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

hardly  say  that  I  spoke  only  what  I  most  sincerely 
thought ;  but  I  should  probably  have  let  politics 
alone  but  for  her  sake.  At  last  there  was  an  oppor- 
tunitj  of  a  new  appointment  being  made  of  a  Minister 
to  that  German  Court ;  and  the  man  who  wished  for 
it,  and  whose  just  claims  I  had  aided  as  I  best  could, 
obtained  it.  His  wife,  Lady  R.,  one  of  those  brilliant 
women  of  the  world  who  are  often  more  amiable 
than  we  give  them  ci-edit  for  being,  had  long  noticed 
the  care  with  which  I  had  cultivated  her  society.  She 
imagined  it  was  for  one  of  her  beautiful  daughters, 
and  did  not  look  unkindly  upon  me.     Before   she 

went  to  reside  at I  undeceived  her,  telling  her 

the  whole  truth  (the  best  thing  in  such  a  case)  and 
binding  her  to  secrecy.  She  promised  to  look  out 
for  Gretchen,  and  to  take  her  into  her  household.  I 
told  Lady  R.  that  Gretchen  had  a  lover,  and  said, 
that  if  any  thing  could  be  done  for  him,  without  lift- 
ing him  out  of  his  rank,  it  should  be.  Neither  would 
I  have  Gretchen  made  any  thing  diflerent  from  what 
she  was.  I  could  have  given  her  money  by  hand- 
fuls  ;  but  that  is  not  the  way  to  serve  people.  At 
the  same  time  I  implored  Lady  R.  to  let  me  know 
immediately  in  case  any  thing  should  ever  occur  to 
break  off  the  marriage. 

Milverton.   And  you  would  have  put  in  your  suit 
and  married  this  girl  ? 


co.vPAXioys  OF  .1/y  sol/tudj:.         131 

Ellcsmcrc.  There  was  but  little  chance,  I  fear ; 
but  you  may  be  sure  no  opportunity  would  have 
escaped  me.  As  for  the  world,  I  am  one  of  the 
few  persons  who  really  care  but  little  for  it.  The 
hissing  of  collected  Europe,  provided  I  knew  the 
hissers  could  not  touch  me,  would  be  a  grateful 
sound  radier  than  the  reverse  —  that  is,  if  heard  at  a 
rcasonao.c  distance. 

Well,  but  I  told  you  I  saw  Gretchen  once  more. 
Yes,  once  more.  You  may  remember  that  some  time 
ago  I  had  a  very  severe  illness,  and  was  not  able  to 
attend  the  Courts  on  an  occasion  when  I  was  much 
wanted.  This  appeared  in  the  newspapers  of  the 
day,  and  so,  I  conjecture,  came  to  the  knowledge  of 
Gretchen  ;  who,  in  her  quiet  indefatigable  way,  had 
learnt  English,  and  was  a  great  student,  as  I  after- 
wards heard,  of  English  newspapers.  She  had  also 
contrived  to  learn  more  about  my  life  than  I  chose 
to  tell  her  when  I  answered  her  question  about 
my  being  happy  ;  and  tiie  poor  girl  had  formed 
juster  notions  of  the  joyousncss  and  comfort  of  a 
lawyer's  chambers  in  London.  She  begged  for 
leave  of  absence  to  visit  a  sick  friend  :  Lady  R. 
conjectured,  I  believe,  where  she  was  going,  and 
consented. 

A  few  davs  afterwards  there  was  a  knock  at  mv 


1^2  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE 

door  (I  was  still  very  ill  and  unable  to  leave  my 
sitting-room,  but  solacing  life  as  best  I  could  by  the 
study  of  a  great  pedigree-case),  when  my  clerk,  with 
an  anxious  and  ashamed  countenance,  put  his  head 
in,  made  one  of  these  queer  faces  which  he  does 
when  he  thinks  a  great  bore  is  wishing  to  see  me  and 
that  I  had  better  say  "  no,"  and  exclaimed,  "  A 
young  woman  from  Germany,  sir,  wants  to  see  you." 
I  knew,  instinctively,  who  it  was,  but  had  the  pres- 
ence of  mind  to  make  a  gesture  signifying  I  would  not 
see  her  (for  I  could  not  have  spoken),  and  I  was 
afraid  in  my  present  state  of  weakness  I  should  be- 
tray myself  in  some  way,  if  I  were  to  see  her  unpre- 
pared. While  the  parleying  was  going  on  in  the 
passage,  I  collected  myself  sufficiently  to  ring  for  my 
clerk  and  tell  him,  he  might  appoint  the  young  wo- 
man to  come  in  the  afternoon.  By  that  time  I  had 
reflected  upon  my  part  and  was  somewhat  of  myself 
again.  She  came  :  I  scolded  and  protested  ;  she  did 
nothing  in  rej^ly,  but  look  at  me  and  say  how  thin  I 
was  ;  and  there  was  no  resisting  the  quiet,  aflection- 
ate,  discreet  way  in  which  she  installed  herself  every 
day  for  some  hours  as  head  nurse.  Even  my  old 
laundress  relaxed  so  far  as  to  say  that  Gradgin  (for 
that  was  what  slic  called  her)  was  a  good  girl  and  not 
hoity-toity  :  and  my  clerk,  Peter,  a  very  cantankerous 


CO.UPAXJOys    OF  Ml'  SOI.ITUDi:.  133 

fellow,  was  heard  to  remark,  that  for  his  part  he  did 
not  like  young  women  much,  but  Miss  Gradgin  was 
better  tlian  most,  and  ccrtainlv  his  master  did 
sonicliow  eat  more  of  any  thing  made  by  her  than  by 
anybody  else,  and  never  threatened  now  to  throw  tlie 
cnicken-broth  he  brought  in  at  his  head. 

I  jest  at  these  things,  Milverton  :  ami  in  truth 
what  remains  for  us  often  in  tliis  world  but  to  jest? 
Which  of  the  Qiieens  was  it,  by  the  way,  wlio  on 
the  scallbid  played  with  tlic  sharpness  of  tiie  axe,  and 
said  something  droll  about  her  little  neck?  Well,  I 
jest;  but  this  visit  of  Gretchen's  was  a  very  severe 
tri;d  to  me.  It  is  a  common  trial  though,  I  dare  say. 
No  doubt  many  a  person  dotes  upon  or  adores  some 
one  else,  who  is,  happily,  as  unconscious  of  the 
doting  or  adoration  as  Ram  Dass,  or  any  other 
heathen  deity,  of  the  fanatic  love  of  his  worshippers. 
To  the  loving  person,  however,  it  is  like  walking 
over  hot  iron  with  no  priest-anointed  feet,  and  yet 
with  unmoved  countenance,  not  even  allowed  to  look 
stoical.  I  could  not  resist  listening  sometimes  to 
Gretchen's  wise,  innocent,  pleasant  talk  about  all 
the  new  things  she  was  seeing  ;  and  perhaps  if  I  had 
nt)t  kept  carefully  before  me  the  claims  of  tiie  absent 
peasant  lover,  some  day  when  she  was  moving  about 
me    lik«'    sunlight   in    tiie    room,    I    miglit    in    some 


134  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

moment  of  frenzy,  which  I  should  never  have  for- 
given myself,  have  thrown  myself  at  her  feet  and 
asked  her  to  take  these  dingy  chambers  and  my  faded 
self  and  all  my  belongings  under  her  permanent  con- 
trol. But  wiser,  sterner,  juster  thoughts  prevailed. 
I  got  better,  and  it  was  time  for  Gretchen  to  be 
thinking  of  going.  Of  course  no  foreigner  can  leave 
London  without  seeing  the  Thames  Tunnel ;  and  I 
observed  that  the  morose  Peter,  though  in  general 
very  contemptuous  of  sight-seeing  and  sight-seers, 
was  wonderfully  ready  to  escort  Gretchen  to  see  the 
Tunnel,  which  I  thought  a  great  triumph  on  her  part. 
I  spared  myself  the  anguish  of  parting  witli  her:  a 
case  came  on  rather  unexpectedly  in  a  distant  part  of 
the  country,  and  I  was  sent  for  "  special,"  as  we  say. 
Kings  and  tetrarchs  might  have  quarrelled  for  what  I 
cared  ;  I  would  not  have  meddled  in  their  feuds  to 
lose  one  hour  of  Gretchen's  sweet  companionship, 
if  I  might  have  had  it  heartily  and  fairly ;  but,  as 
things  were,  I  thought  tliis  a  famous  opportunity  for 
making  my  escape  without  a  parting.  And  so  I 
started  suddenly  for  the  North,  bidding  Gretchen 
adieu  by  letter,  expressing  all  my  gratitude  for  her 
attention,  and  being  able  to  rule  and  correct  my  ex- 
pressions as  it  seemed  good  to  mc.  Before  I  returned 
she  had  left,  taking  leave  of  me  in  a  fond  kind  letter, 


COMPANIOSS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE.  135 

in  which  she  bhimed  me  much  for  being  so  regard- 
less of  my  health,  and  added  a  few  words  about  my 
evident  anxiety  to  get  rid  of  her,  which  sounded  to 
me  hke  some  wild  strain  of  irony.  Ever  since,  my 
chambers  ha^c  seemed  to  me  very  diflerent  from  what 
they  were  before  :  I  would  not  quit  them  for  a  palace. 
One  or  tvo  new  articles  of  furniture  were  bought  by 
Gretchcn,  who  effected  a  kind  of  quiet  revolution  in 
my  dusky  abode.     These  are  my  household  gods. 

One  of  her  alterations  I  must  tell  you.  You  know 
my  love  for  light  and  warmth  ;  like  that  of  an  Asiatic 
long  exiled  in  a  Northern  country,  whose  calenture 
is  not  of  green  fields,  but  of  sufficient  heat  and  light 
once  more  to  bathe  in.  Well,  Gretchen  soon  found 
out  my  likings ;  and  this  was  one  of  her  plans  to 
gratify  me  and  make  me  well.  My  principal  room 
has  a  window  to  the  south-west,  a  l)ay-wiiul()W,  or 
rather  a  window  in  a  bayed  recess.  After  ascertain- 
ing, as  well  as  she  could,  from  Peter  what  were  the 
limits  throughout  the  year  of  the  sun's  appearance 
on  tlie  walls  of  this  recess,  on  a  sudilen  one  morning 
Gretchen  came  in  with  a  workman  and  two  antique 
looking-glasses  of  the  proper  size,  which  (a  present 
of  her  own,  and  taxing  her  resources  highly)  she 
fixed  one  on  each  side  of  the  recess,  from  wlience 
they  have  ever  since  thrown  a  rellected  light  into  thij 


136  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

room,  which  makes  it  feel  at  times  uncomfortable, 
like  an  ill-dressed  person  in  a  great  company.  It 
is  a  trifling  thing  to  mention  to  you,  but  very  char- 
acteristic of  her. 

I  have  said  nothing  to  you,  Milverton,  which  can 
describe  herself;  and,  indeed,  I  always  look  upon 
all  descriptions  of  women,  in  books  and  elsewhere, 
as  having  something  mean,  poor,  and  sensuous 
about  them.  I  may  tell  you  that  she  always,  from 
the  first  time  I  saw  her,  reminded  me  a  little  of  the 
bust  of  Cicero.  She  had  the  same  delicate  critical 
look,  though  she  was  what  you  would  call  a  great 
large  girl.  She  might  have  been  a  daughter  of  his 
if  he  had  married,  what  he  would  have  called,  a 
barbarian  German  woman.  In  nature,  she  has  often 
recalled  to  me  Jeanie  Deans,  only  that  she  has 
more  tenderness.  She  would  have  spoken  falsely 
(I  am  sorry  to  sa})  for  Effie  ;  and  would  have  died 
of  it. 

Lady  R.,  when  she  was  over  here  some  little  time 
ago,  said  to  me,  to  comfort  me,  I  suppose,  that 
though  Grctchen  was  a  sweet  girl,  she  did  not  quite 
see  what  there  was  in  her  to  make  her  so  attractive 
to  a  man  like  me.  But  these  women  do  not  always 
exactly  understand  one  aiK)ther,  or  appreciate  what 
makes  them  dear  to  particular  men.     She  added, 


co}frA.yioNs  of  .uv  solitude.         137 

"  But  still  I  do  not  know  how  it  was  Gretchen 
became  the  great  authority  in  our  household  :  they 
all  referred  to  her  about  every  thing,  and  she  did  a 
good  deal  of  their  work."  In  fact,  she  was  the 
personification  of  common  sense;  only  that  what 
we  mean  by  common  sense  is  apt  to  be  hard,  over- 
wise,  and  disagreeable  :  hers  was  the  common  sense 
of  a  romantic  person,  and  of  one  who  had  great 
perception  of  the  humorous.  I  think  I  hear  her 
low,  long-continued,  dimpling  laugh  as  I  used  to  put 
forth  some  of  my  odd  theories  about  men  and  things, 
to  hear  what  she  would  say.  And  she  generally 
did  say  something  fullv  to  the  purpose.  But  action 
was  her  forte.  There  was  a  noiseless,  soft  activity 
about  her  like  that  of  liglit. 

Alilvcrton.  You  speak  of  her  as  if  she  were 
dead.     Is  it  so? 

Ellesmcre.  No:  much  the  same  thing,  —  mar- 
ried. There  was  an  opportunity  for  advancing  her 
lover.  It  was  done,  not  without  my  knowledge. 
She  had  by  this  time  saved  some  money.  They 
were  married  .six  months  ago.  I  sent  the  wedding 
gown.  Do  not  let  us  talk  any  more  about  it.  I  lei! 
it  yod  to  show  you  how  deeply  I  care  about  your 
subject;  for  sometimes  I  think  with  terror,  as  I  go 
along  the  streets,  that  but  for  my  provitL-ntial  inter- 


138  COMPANIONS   OF  21 Y  SOLITUDE. 

ference,  Gretchen  might  have  been  like  one  of  those 
tawdry  girls  who  pass  by  me.  Yes,  she  might.  I 
observed  that  she  had  a  pure  horror  of  debt :  and 
I  do  not  know  that  circumstances  might  not  have 
been  too  strong  for  her  virtue.  For  by  nature  vir- 
tuous, if  ever  woman  was,  she  was. 

Ellesmere  was  silent  for  a  few  minutes.  Then  he 
said,  "  Let  us  have  no  more  of  this  talk  to-day,  or, 
indeed,  at  any  time,  unless  I  should  begin  the  sub- 
ject. One  of  the  greatest  drawbacks  upon  making 
any  confidence  is  that,  as  regards  that  topic,  you 
have  then  lost  the  royal  privilege  of  beginning  the 
discourse  about  yourself,  and  another  can  begin  to 
«!peak  to  you,  or  to  think  (and  you  know  that  he  is 
thinking),  about  the  matter,  when  you  do  not  wish 
^o  be  so  much  as  thought  of  by  any  one." 

lie  then  began  to  speak  about  some  chemical 
experiments  which  he  wanted  me  to  try  ;  and  from 
that  went  on  to  talk  about  infusoria,  wishing  me  to 
undertake  some  microscopical  investigations  to  con- 
firm, or  disprove,  a  certain  theory  of  his  ;  adding, 
by  way  of  inducement,  "  These  lower  forms  an(' 
orders  of  life  ought,  you  know,  to  be  very  interest- 
ing to  people  in  the  country,  who  themselves,  in 
comparison  with  us,  the  inliabitants  of  towns,  can 
only,  by  courtesy,  and  for  want  of  more  precise  and 


CO^fPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE.  139 

accurate  language,  be  said  to  live.  In  fact,  their 
existence  is  entirely  molluscous."  Thus,  in  his 
usual  jeering  ^vav,  he  concluded  a  walk  which  left 
me  with  matter  for  meditation  for  many  a  solitary 
ramble  over  the  downs,  which  we  then  traversed 
on  our  way  homewards. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

TT  is  not  often  in  the  course  of  our  lives,  especially 
after  we  have  passed  our  nonage,  that  we  can 
reckon  upon  being  thoroughly  undisturbed  and  free 
to  think  of  what  we  like  for  a  given  time.  It  is  one 
of  the  advantages  of  travelling  in  a  carriage  alone, 
that  it  affords  an  admirable  opportunity  for  thinking. 
The  trees,  the  houses,  the  farm-yards,  the  woods  flit 
by,  and  form  a  sort  of  silent  chorus  from  the  out- 
ward world.  There  is  a  sense  of  power  in  over- 
coming distance  at  no  expense  of  muscular  exertion 
of  one's  own,  which  is  not  without  an  elevating  and 
inspiriting  influence  upon  the  thoughts.  The  first 
thing,  however,  is,  that  we  are  pretty  nearly  sure  of 
being  undisturbed.  The  noise  around  us  is  a  meas- 
ured one,  and  is  accounted  for ;  it  does  not,  there- 
fore, fret  the  most  nervous  person.  Dr.  Johnson 
thought  that  travelling  in  a  post-chaise  with  a  pretty 
woman  was  one  of  the  highest  delights  in  life. 
Very  ungallantly  I  venture  to  suggest  that  the  pretty 
woman  had  better  be  omitted.     She  will  talk  some- 


co}frAXioys  of  Mr  solitude.         141 

times,  aiul  break  the  whole  charm,  thus  preventmg 
you  even  from  thinking  about  her. 

Having  such  notions  of  the  high  merits  apper- 
taining to  the  inside  of  a  post-chaise  in  motion  ;  in 
fact,  considering  it  a  phice  which,  for  the  research 
of  truth,  may  be  put  in  competition  with  the  groves 
of  Academus,  it  was  with  some  pleasure  that  I 
found  myself  alone  in  the  carriage  which  had  con- 
veyed Ellesmere  to  the  neighboring  railway  station 
on  his  return  to  town.  It  was  the  first  time  since 
our  walk  to  the  downs  that  I  had  had  to  myself, 
and  been  able  to  think  over  all  that  he  had  then 
told  me.  He  was  right  in  saying  that  his  story  bore 
close  reference  to  the  subject  I  have  been  consid- 
ering. That  such  a  man  should  find  so  much  to 
attach  himself  to  in  this  poor  German  girl,  who 
might  so  easily  have  been  found  in  a  very  diflerent 
situation,  makes  one  think  with  dismay  how  some 
of  the  sweetest  and  highest  natures  amongst  women 
may  be  in  the  ranks  of  those  who  are  abandoned  to 
Ihc  rude  address  of  the  coarsest  and  vilest  of  men. 
I  sa\  "  some  of  the  sweetest  and  highest  natures," 
for  there  is  a  cultivation  in  women  quite  indepeiul- 
eiit  of  literary  culture,  rank,  and  other  advantages. 
They  are  more  on  a  level  with  each  other  than  men. 
I  do  not  reckon  this  as  a  proof  of  their  excellence  : 


142  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

nor  do  I  at  all  indulge  in  the  fancy  that  there  is 
something  so  peculiarly  charming  in  vmcultivated 
people.  On  the  contrary,  they  are  seldom  just,  sel- 
dom tolerant ;  and,  as  regards  innocence  and  child- 
like nature,  these  merits  abound  in  persons  the 
most  cultivated,  and  even  the  most  conversant  with 
the  world.  I  have  no  doubt  we  all  appear  simple 
and  unsophisticated  enough  to  superior  beings.  It 
is  not,  therefore,  that  I  mean  to  laud  the  innocence 
and  naivete  of  ignorance  :  but  only  to  point  out 
that  there  Is  a  certain  platform,  as  It  were,  of  grace 
and  unselfishness,  —  of  tact,  delicacy,  and  teacha- 
bleness —  on  which  I  have  no  doubt  an  Immense 
number  of  women  are  placed,  which  makes  any 
corruption  of  such  high  capabilities  the  more  to  be 
regretted. 

Dunsford,  In  his  Friends  in  Council^  has  failed 
in  representing  Ellesmere,  If  he  has  not  shown  him 
to  be  a  most  accomplished  man  and  a  thorough 
gentleman  ;  not  exactly  the  conventional  gentleman, 
but  a  man  whom  savages  would  certainly  take  to  be 
a  chief  in  his  own  country,  showing  high  courtesy 
to  others  with  a  sort  of  coolness  as  regards  himself: 
the  result  of  being  free  from  many  of  the  usual  small 
shames,  i^ctty  ends,   trivial    vanities,    and    masked 


COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE.  143 

social  operations  whicli  dwarf  men  in  their  inter- 
course with  others,  or  make  tlieni  like  clowns  daubed 
over  ill  ugly  patches.  Ilis  pursuits,  as  may  have 
been  seen,  are  on  a  larger  sphere  than  those  of  most 
lawyers.  Very  observant,  too,  of  the  world,  I  have 
scarcely  a  doubt  he  was  right  in  his  high  apprecia- 
tion of  that  girl's  character. 

We  sometimes  think  we  have  no  romance  left; 
but  with  all  our  borrowed  ways  of  thinking,  our 
foolish  imitative  habits,  our  estimations  grosser  than 
those  of  Portia's  disappointed  suitors,  some  of  us 
occasionally  do  still  look  at  things  and  people  as 
they  are.    And  that  alone  produces  romance  enough. 

I  wonder  whether  Gretchen  had  any  love  for  him  ! 
Alas,  I  suspect,  from  a  fond  wistful  way  in  which  I 
once  saw  Lucy  look  at  him,  that  there  is  an  English 
girl  who  would  mightily  like  to  occupy  Gretchen's 
place  in  his  heart.  But  he  casts  not  a  thought  at 
her :  such  is  the  perversity  of  things. 

But  I  must  turn  from  thinking  about  Ellesmere  to 
the  consideration  of  my  subject,  which  is  favored  by 
this  quiet  moment  and  this  retired  spot.  It  seems 
to  me  that  the  best  thing  I  can  do  will  be,  not  so 
much  to  seek  for  new  arguments  and  new  views,  as 
to  strengthen  and  enlighten  those  already  put  for- 
ward in  a  preceding  chapter. 


144  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

I  spoke,  for  instance,  there  of  the  cause  that 
poverty  was  of  this  sin.  Now  women  do  not 
equally  partake  with  men  in  the  general  poverty  in 
a  land,  but  they  have  to  endure  an  undue  propor- 
tion of  it,  by  reason  of  many  employments  being 
closed  to  them  ;  so  that  the  sex  which  is  least  able 
and  least  fitted  to  seek  for  employment  by  going 
from  home,  finds  the  means  of  employment  at  home 
most  circumscribed. 

I  cannot  but  think  that  this  is  a  mismanagement 
which  has  proceeded,  like  many  others,  from  a  wrong 
appreciation  of  women's  powers.  If  they  were  told 
that  they  could  do  many  more  things  than  they  do, 
they  would  do  them.  As  at  present  educated,  they 
are,  for  the  most  part,  thoroughly  deficient  in  method. 
But  this  surely  might  be  remedied  by  training.  To 
take  a  very  humble  and  simple  instance.  Why  is  it 
that  a  man-cook  is  always  better  than  a  woman-cook  ? 
Simply  because  a  man  is  more  methodical  in  his 
arrangements,  and  relies  more  upon  his  weights  and 
measures.  An  eminent  physician  told  me,  that  he 
thought  that  women  were  absolutely  deficient  in  the 
appreciation  of  time.  But  this  I  hold  to  be  merely 
one  instance  of  their  general  want  of  accuracy ;  for 
which  there  are  easy  remedies  :  that  is,  easy  if  begun 
early  enough.     Now  it  docs  seem  perfectly  ludicrous 


COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE.  145 

that  in  the  dispensnig  of  women's  gear  they  should 
need  the  intervention  of  men.  I  dare  say  there  is 
some  good  reason  for  the  present  practice,  some 
advantage  gained  ;  but  I  should  think  it  likely  that 
this  advantage  would  be  far  more  than  counter- 
balanced by  the  advantage  of  employing  women 
altogether  in  these  transactions. 

Again,  in  the  processes  of  the  arts,  and  in  many 
ways  which  I  have  not  time  or  space  to  enter  upon, 
women  might  be  provided  with  new  sources  of  em- 
ployment, if  they  were  properly  trained. 

But  the  truth  is,  there  is  a  great  want  of  ingenuity 
and  arrangement  throughout  the  world  in  not  pro- 
viding employment  for  its  unemployed,  both  men 
and  women.  Things  that  imperatively  want  to  be 
done  stare  you  in  the  face  at  every  corner. 

If  we  consider  the  nature  of  the  intellect  of  women, 
we  really  can  see  no  reason  for  the  restrictions  laid 
upon  them  in  the  choice  of  employments.  They 
possess  talents  of  all  kinds.  Government,  to  be  sure, 
is  a  thing  not  fit  for  them,  their  fond  prejudices 
coming  often  in  the  way  of  justice.  Direction  also 
they  would  want,  not  having  the  same  power,  I  thmk, 
of  imagination  that  men  have,  nor  the  same  method, 
as  I  observed  before.  But  how  well  women  might 
work  under  direction.  In  how  many  ways  where 
10 


146  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

tact  and  order  alone  are  required  they  might  be  em- 
ployed, and  also,  in  how  many  higher  ways,  where 
talent  is  required. 

I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  say  something  about  un- 
happy marriages  as  a  cause  of  the  evil  I  have  named 
as  the  great  sin  of  gieat  cities.  Of  course  there  are 
a  great  many  unhappy  marriages.  A  weighty  moral 
writer  of  the  present  day  intimates  that  there  is  no 
medium  in  the  felicity,  or  infelicity,  of  marriage ; 
that  it  is  either  the  summit  of  joy,  or  the  depth  of 
toi-ment.  I  venture  to  differ  from  him  in  this  re- 
spect. On  the  contrary,  it  seems  to  me  probable 
that  in  marriage  the  whole  diapason  of  joy  and  sor- 
row is  sounded,  from  perfect  congeniality,  if  there 
be  such  a  thing  (which  I  doubt),  to  the  utmost  ex- 
tent of  irritable  uncongeniality. 

How  this  may  be  I  know  not,  but  though  unhap- 
piness  in  marriage  may  form  some  justification  of, 
or  at  least  some  explanation  for,  other  connections 
more  or  less  permanent,  yet  I  contend  no  want  of 
domestic  love  or  2:)eace  can  justify  the  particular  sin 
which  is  the  subject  of  our  present  theme. 

At  the  same  time  I  am  far  from  pronouncing  that 
the  law  of  divorce  may  not  require  considerable 
modification  ;  but  really  there  are  so  many  large 


COMPANIOXS    or  MY  SOLITUDE.  147 

questions  to  deal  with  in  reference  to  this  picsent 
subject,  that  I  feel  I  cannot  presume  to  enter  upon 
this  one  of  divorce,  to  discuss  which  properly  would 
require  any  one  man's  life.  I  cannot,  however,  omit 
all  allusion  to  it,  as  it  has  undoubted  reference  to  the 
subject  in  hand  ;  and  I  may  remark  that  it  is  a  great 
deal  easier  to  pass  by  Milton,  or  to  sneer  at  him,  for 
his  great  work  on  The  Doctrine  and  Discipline  of 
Divorce^  than  to  answer  the  arguments  therein  con- 
tained. The  truth  is,  that  there  is  scarcely  anywhere 
a  mind  sufficiently  free  from  the  overnuling  influence 
of  authority  on  these  and  similar  subjects  to  be 
able  clearly  and  boldly  to  apprehend  the  question 
for  itself. 

However,  it  does  not  become  us  to  pronounce,  if 
we  are  to  judge  from  the  results  only,  that  our  pres- 
ent notions  of  marriage  are  the  best  possible.  I 
can  imagine  a  native  of  some  country  where  polyg- 
amy is  practised,  contending  that  the  state  of  things 
in  his  own  country  in  this  respect  is  preferable  to 
tluit  in  ours  ;  not,  perhaps,  as  producing  less  misery, 
but  at  any  rate  less  dishonor  both  to  men  and  wo- 
men. \\'e  should  find  it  difficult  to  gainsav  him 
in  this,  as  of  course  he  would  make  much  of  the 
immense  and  obvious  evils  of  the  sin  we  have  been 
considering. 


148  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

The  greatest  and  most  dangerous  objection  —  T 
should  rather  say  assertion  —  which  will  be  made 
against  any  thing  that  has  been  said  in  this  chap- 
ter and  the  two  preceding  ones,  is  one  that  will  be 
uttered  with  a  derisive  smile  by  men  of  the  world, 
as  they  are  called  ;  that  is,  of  a  very  small  section 
of  it.  Thinking  they  are  deeply  cognizant  of  the 
human  heart,  because  they  are  very  much  afraid  of 
its  aberrations,  and  that  they  are  fully  aware  of  the 
powers  of  the  imagination,  from  having  little  them- 
selves and  discouraging  the  little  they  ever  had  — 
lapped,  perhaps,  in  a  kind  of  prosperity  which  sin- 
gularly blinds  those  who  have  the  misfortune  to  en- 
joy an  uninterrupted  career  of  it — bounded  by  a 
small  circle  of  equally  well-conditioned,  self-satisfied 
individuals  —  men  of  this  kind  pronounce  not  only 
upon  the  influx  and  efflux  of  tea,  coffee,  sugar  and 
gold  (in  which,  by  the  way,  their  dicta  are  generally 
wrong),  but  they  are  also  able  specifically  to  declare 
about  the  ebb  and  flow  of  the  passions  or  the  aflec- 
tions  ;  about  the  tenderest  and  the  most  delicate  of 
the  relations  in  human  life.  Talk  to  any  man  of 
this  worldly  class  about  moral  causes,  or  religious 
influences,  he  is  equally  at  home  with  them,  as  if 
you  were  to  ask  him  about  the  subjects  most  "  im- 
mersed in  matter."     I  can  see  the  self-sufficient  way 


COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE.  149 

in  which  if  he  had  Hvcd  some  seven  hundred  years 
ago,  after  the  first  crusade,  he  would  have  pronounced 
with  a  wave  of  his  hand  after  dinner,  that  there 
never  could  be  such  another  adventure  again,  as  the 
first  had  by  no  means  been  found  to  pay.  But  soon 
all  Europe  is  listening  to  the  clink  of  haninicrs  upon 
harness,  and  thousands,  hundreds  of  thousands,  are 
repeating  an  adventure  not  good  in  a  commercial 
sense,  but  still  which  gave  a  dignity  to  them  such  as 
the  stayers  at  home  never  attained. 

Having  damaged,  as  much  as  I  can,  the  imagina- 
ry opponents  —  who,  I  know  however,  will  prove 
real  ones  —  before  I  bring  their  saying  into  pres- 
ence, 1  will  now  tell  what  tliat  saying  will  assur- 
edly be. 

In  answer  to  all  that  has  been  urged  in  the  way 
of  remedy  for  this  evil,  they  will  simply  reply, 
"But  these  things  always  must  be  ;  the  laws  of  sup- 
ply and  demand  hold  good  in  this  case  as  in  others: 
to  think  (otherwise  is  the  mere  dream  of  writers  and 
other  ideologists  :  no  wonder  Napoleon  disliked  such 
people  :  we  do  too." 

To  this,  taking  them  on  their  own  ground,  I 
would  reply  that  at  any  rate  the  force  of  ciixumstan- 
ces  (a  phrase  they  delight  in)  may  be  so  adapted 
and  modified  as  only  to  meet  the  exact   necessities 


150  COMPANION'S    OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

"of  the  case.  I  mean,  for  instance,  that  those  by  na- 
ture most  incHned  to  innocence  should  have  the 
fairest  opportunities  of  remaining  innocent;  that,  in 
short,  it  should  be  the  worst  people  that  fell  into  the 
worst  ways.  This,  of  course,  is  only  an  ideal  scheme 
too  ;  but  there  might  be  a  practical  tendency  in  that 
direction. 

In  reality,  however,  it  is  the  greatest  mistake  to 
suppose  that  such  laws  of  supply  and  demand  are 
not  overruled  by  much  higher  influences.  All  things 
depend  for  their  ultimate  aim  and  end  on  the  spirit 
in  which  they  are  undertaken  ;  which  spirit  cannot 
well  be  concealed.  The  measured  generosity  of 
mean  people,  whose  gifts  are  all  strictly  related  to 
duty,  does  not  deceive  others  ;  the  bystander  knows 
that  these  people  are  not  generous,  though  he  can- 
not exactly  confute  them  from  their  words  or  their 
deeds.  Again,  people  may  pretend  to  be  religious  ; 
but  if  the  real  spirit  is  not  in  them,  its  absence  is 
soon  felt.  I  am  merely  giving  these  as  instances  of 
the  deficiency  of  tlic  riglit  spirit  being  felt,  or  per- 
ceived, even  when  the  outward  deeds  or  words  arc 
there.  But  the  spirit  W'hich  results  from  convic- 
tion, and  which  gradually  modifies  public  opinion, 
is  one  of  the  most  powerful  things  known  :  who 
shall  put  limits  to  it?     It  will  meet  and  occasionally 


COMPAX/OXS   or  .VV  SOLITUD/:.  r5l 

master  all  tlic  p:issioiis.  Take  tlie  question  of 
duelling,  for  instance ;  if  you  could  have  told  ^ 
man  of  fonuer  times,  when  duelling  was  rife, 
that  it  would  soon  be  almost  done  away  with, 
"What!"  he  wouUl  have  exclaimed,  "  will  there 
be  no  lovers,  no  jealous  husbands,  no  walls  to  take 
the  inner  side  of,  no  rudeness,  no  drunkenness,  no 
calumny,  no  slander?  And,  if  there  arc,  how  will 
the  quaiTels  that  must  arise  from  these  things  be  ad- 
justed? Do  not  talk  such  Utopian  nonsense  to  me, 
but  come  and  let  us  practise  in  the  shooting-gal- 
lery." And,  yet,  see  how  stealthily,  how  unassum 
ingly,  how  completely  public  opinion,  the  result  of 
a  wise  and  good  spirit  gradually  infused  into  men, 
has  disarmed  duellism  ;  as  quietly,  in  fact,  as  the 
king's  guard  in  former  days  would  have  taken  away 
the  weapons  of  any  two  presumptuous  gentlemen 
who  brought  their  ciuarrelling  too  near  his  Majesty's 
vicinity  in  his  parks. 

One  of  the  kind  of  reproaches  that  will  ever  be 
made,  with  much  or  little  justice  (generally  with  lit- 
tle justice),  against  any  men  who  endeavor  to  reform 
or  improve  any  thing,  is  that  they  are  not  ready  with 
dcfmite  propositions ;  that  they  are  like  the  Chorus 
in  a  Greek    play,  making  general  remarks    about 


153  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

nature  and  human  affairs,  without  suggesting  any 
oiear  and  decided  course  to  be  taken.  Sometimes 
this  reproach  is  just;  but  very  often,  on  the  other 
hand,  it  is  utterly  unreasonable.  Frequently  the 
course  to  be  taken  in  each  individual  instance  is 
one  that  it  would  be  almost  impossible  to  decide, 
still  more  to  lay  down  with  minuteness,  without 
a  knowledge  of  the  facts  in  the  jDarticular  instance  : 
whereas  what  is  wanted  is  not  to  suggest  a  course  of 
action,  but  a  habit  of  thought  which  will  modify  not 
one  or  two  actions  only,  but  all  actions  that  come 
within  the  scope  of  that  thought. 

Again,  there  are  people  who  are  not  so  unreason- 
able as  to  expect  suggestions  that  will  exactly  meet 
their  own  individual  cases,  but  still  they  wish  for 
general  rules  or  general  propositions  to  be  laid  down. 
There  must  be  instant  legislation  to  please  them ; 
something  visibly  done.  And  often  it  is  needful  that 
something  should  be  done,  which  however  falls, 
perhaps,  under  the  functions  of  other  men  than  the 
original  social  reformers.  There  is  always  such  a 
belief  In  what  is  mechanical,  that  men  of  ordinary 
minds  cannot  assure  themselves  that  any  thing  Is 
done,  unless  something  palpable  is  before  them  ; 
unless  they  can  refer  to  a  legislative  act,  or  unless 
there  is  a  building,  an  Institution,  a  newspaper,  or 


COMPAX/OXS    OF  MV  SOLITUDE.  153 

some  visible  tiling,  which  illustrates  the  principle 
Biit  in  reality  the  first  thing  is  to  get  people  to  be  o^ 
the  same  mind  as  regards  social  evils.  When  once 
they  are  of  this  mind,  the  evils  will  soon  disappear. 
A  wise  conviction  is  like  light;  it  gradually  dawns 
upon  a  few  minds,  but  a  slight  mist  rises  also  with 
this  rise  of  light;  as  the  day  goes  on  and  the  light 
rises  higher,  spreads  further,  and  is  more  intense, 
growth  of  all  kinds  takes  place  silently  and  without 
great  demonstration  of  any  kind.  This  liglit  per- 
meates, colors,  and  enlarges  all  it  shines  upon. 

Now,  to  apply  some  of  these  thoughts  to  our 
present  subject.  I  do  not  believe  that  there  will 
always  be  a  certain  set  amount  of  wrong-doing  in 
this  or  in  any  other  case.  On  the  other  hand,  I  do 
not  expect  that  people  will  suddenly  rush  into  virtue. 
To  take  a  very  humble  instance,  the  suppression  of 
smoke,  one  of  the  most  visible  evils  in  the  world, 
how  long  a  time  it  takes  to  subdue  that.  From  Count 
Rumford's  time  to  the  present  day,  how  many  persons 
have  written,  preached,  talked,  experimented,  on  the 
subject.  And  if  this  long  process  has  to  take  place 
in  so  obvious  a  matter,  how  much  more  must  it  be 
so  in  the  subtler  regions  of  men's  minds,  in  their 
habits  of  justice,  or  of  forethought.  But,  insensibly, 
even  in  these  dim  and  remote  regions,  good  coun- 


154  COMPANIONS    OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

sels,  or  evil  counsels,  will  eventually  prevail,  —  as 
quietly,  perhaps,  but  as  surely,  as  the  submerged 
coral  rock  grows  and  increases  from  the  accumula- 
tions of  minute,  gelatinous,  molluscous  creatures. 

The  train  of  thought  which  I  have  described  above, 
did  not  of  course  occur  to  me  in  the  methodical  way 
in  which  I  have  now  put  it  down,  but  with  frequent 
breaks  and  interruptions  both  from  internal  thoughts 
and  the  aspect  of  external  objects.  Now  it  was  the 
noise  of  the  mill,  now  the  beauty  of  some  hoinestead, 
now  the  neatness  of  some  well-cultivated  field,  or  the 
richness  of  some  full  farmyard  that  claimed  my 
attention.  But  when  I  had  finished  thinking  of  the 
answer  that  must  be  given  to  that  worldly  objection 
"that  there  is  a  demand  for  wickedness,. and  that 
there  must  be  a  supply  of  it,"  I  leaned  back  in  the 
carriage  and  turned  my  mind  to  other  branches  of 
the  subject.  Just  at  that  time,  whether  it  was  that  a 
troop  of  little  children  came  out  of  a  school-house 
close  to  the  road,  or  that  I  noticed  the  early  budduig 
in  the  hedgerows,  as  I  passed  along,  I  began  to  think 
of  what  had  been  alluded  to  in  a  former  chapter ; 
namely,  what  a  beautiful  thing  youth  is,  and  how 
sad  that  it  slioukl  be  spoilt  at  its  outset.  And  I  went 
on  to  think  not  only  of  the  negative,  that  is,  of  the 
loss  of  so  much  beautiful  life  and  promise,  but  of 


COMPANIONS  or  ^fy  solitude  155 

the  positive  misery  inflicted,  which  surely  is  well 
worth  taking  into   consideration. 

Tragedy  is  very  grand,  with  grand  accessories, 

"  Presenting  Thebes',  or  Pelops'  line, 
Or  tlie  Tale  of  Troy  divine," 

when  a  purple-clad  man,  free  from  all  the  pettinesses 
of  life,  pours  out  a  strain  of  sorrow  which  melts  all 
hearts,  and  goes  some  way  to  dignify  the  sufferings 
of  all  liumanity.  But,  after  all,  in  some  squalid  den, 
as  great  if  not  a  greater  tragedy  is  often  transacted, 
only  without  the  scenery  and  decorations  of  tiic  other, 
when  some  poor  victim  of  seduction  —  now  steeped 
in  misery  and  siuik  in  llie  abysses  of  self-degrada- 
tion, amidst  blasphemy,  subject  to  reviling  that  she 
scarcely  hears  or  easily  endures  from  habit  —  lies 
on  the  bed  of  sickness  thinking  of  her  mother's  gentle 
assiduities  in  some  of  the  ailments  i)f  her  childhood, 
and  covers  her  face  with  her  hands  at  the  thought 
that  that  mother,  dead,  perhaps  heart-broken,  may 
now,  a  spirit,  be  looking  down  upon  her.  Well 
might  Camoens  wontler  "  That  in  so  small  a  tlieatre 
as  that  of  one  poor  bed,  it  should  please  Fortune  to 
represent  such  great  calamities.  And  I  too,"  he 
says,  "  as  if  these  calamities  ilid  not  suffice,  must 
needs  put  myself  on  their  side  ;  for  to  attempt  to 
resist  such  evils  wouUl  be  somethintr  shameless." 


156  COMPANIONS    OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

I  had  meditated  but  a  few  minutes  on  this  cry  of 
anguish,  which  I  seemed  to  heai'  as  it  came  from  the 
dying-bed  of  one  of  the  most  unfortunate  of  men  of 
genius,  and  which  I  fancied,  too,  I  lieard  from  many 
other  death-beds,  when  we  turned  out  of  the  inain 
road  into  the  lanes  which  lead  to  Worth-Ashton. 
With  all  our  pretences  at  governing  or  directing 
our  thoughts,  how  they  lie  at  the  mercy  of  the 
merest  accident!  Once  in  these  lanes  I  quitted  my 
subject,  and  began  to  think  how  the  way  to  my  house 
might  be  shortened,  and  I  was  already  deep  in  the 
engineering  difficulties  of  the  proceeding,  when 
somewhat  satirically  I  said  to  myself.  What  a  mania 
you  have  for  improving  every  thing  about  you : 
could  you  not,  my  dear  Leonard,  spare  a  little  of 
this  reforming  energy  for  yourself?  One  would 
think  that  you  did  not  need  it  at  all,  to  see  the  way 
you  go  on  writing  moral  essays.  Myself  replied  to 
me,  This  is  a  very  spiteful  remark  of  yours,  and  very 
like  what  Ellesmere  would  have  said.  Have  I  not 
always  protested  in  the  strongest  manner  against 
the  assumption,  that  a  writer  of  moral  essays  must 
be  a  moral  man  himself.''  Your  friend  Ellesmere, 
in  I'eference  to  this  very  point,  remarks  that  if  all 
clergymen  had  been  Christians,  there  would  by  this 
time  have  been  no  science  of  theology.     But,  jesting 


CUMPAXWXS   OF  J/r  SOLITUDE.  i^y 

apart,  it  would  be  a  sad  thing  indeed  if  one's  ideal 
was  never  to  go  beyond  one's  own  infirmities.  How- 
ever, myself  agrees  with  you,  my  dear  I,  so  far,  that 
it  is  much  safer  to  be  thought  worse  than  better  than 
one  really  is  :  and  so  blacken  me  as  much  as  you 
like,  and  detract  from  me  as  much  as  you  can,  so 
that  you  do  not  injure  my  arguments  or  my  per- 
suasions. These  I  believe  in,  and  will  endeavor  to 
carry  out,  just  as  if  they  had  been  uttered  by  the 
most  irreproachable  and  perfect  man  in  the  world. 

Maintaining  this  strange  dialogue  as  stoutly  as  if 
there  had  been  two  persons  instead  of  one  in  the 
carriage,  I,  or  rather  we,  (I  wonder  whether  the 
editorial  "  we  "  is  thus  really  dual,  consisting  of  a 
man  and  his  conscience) — wc,  I  say,  reached  the 
gate  of  Worth-As])ton,  pretty  good  friends  with  each 
other,  and  pleased  witli  what  we  had  thought  over 
during  our  ride  homewards. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

^*INCE  giving  an  account  of  my  last  reverie,  I 
have  been  abroad  for  a  short  time,  which  has 
a  little  interrupted  my  Mrork,  but  I  now  resume  it 
with  less  feeling  of  weariness.  I  seldom  think 
much  during  a  tour.  Indeed  I  come  out  to  avoid 
thinking.  I  do  not  come  to  sec  what  can  be  said  or 
thought  about  any  place,  but  to  see  it.  Nevertlie- 
less,  occasionally,  I  make  a  few  notes  consisting  of 
some  disjointed  words,  sufficient  to  recall  to  me,  and 
to  me  only,  what  were  the  things  which  made  an 
impression  upon  me. 

One  scene  of  this  last  journey  I  find  commemo- 
rated in  this  short  way ;  and,  as  it  is  connected  with 
some  thoughts  which  carry  on  the  subjects  wc  (my 
readers  and  I)  liavc  lately  been  considering,  I  will 
recall  it. 

I  shall  not  tell  with  any  precisencss  where  I  was  : 
for  if  I  did  so,  and  did  it  well,  my  countrymen 
would  flock  to  see  the  place.  Not  that  I  grudge 
them  seeing  any  thing.  I  suppose  it  happens  to 
many  of  us,  when  abroad,  to  feel  a  little  ashamed 


COMPANIONS    OP'  Mi'  SOLirUDi:.  159 

now  and  then  of  these  same  countrymen  ;  but  yet 
I  often  tliink  with  pleasure  that  even  the  most 
coarse  and  obtuse  traveller  brings  back  something 
besides  self-conceit.  One  regrets  that  such  oppor- 
tunities are  not  always  bestowed  on  minds  fully  able 
to  profit  by  them  ;  but  still  one  hopes  that  the  most 
inicultivated  people  cannot  escape  getting  some  little 
advantage  from  their  travels;  and  if  they  were  to 
stay  at  home,  they  would  not  the  less  remain  uncul- 
tivated people. 

Such  travellers,  however,  would  not  thank  me  at 
all  for  describing  a  place  which  might  thus  get  into 
the  guide-books,  and  then,  alas !  form  one  more 
spot  which  they  must  stop  to  look  at,  while  they 
would  far  rather  scamper  over  more  ground  and  see 
more  well-known  places  with  great  names.  And 
as  for  the  people  who  see  things  for  themselves, 
tliey  will  not  pass  by  the  spot  in  question  without 
giving  it  a  due  regard. 

And  what  a  scene  it  is  !  Across  a  wide  extent  of 
water  lies  a  bridge  of  immense  length  formed  of 
uneven  planks  supported  upon  piles.  There  is  no 
railing  to  the  bridge,  so  that  you  seem  almost  upon 
the  water,  and  you  have  the  sensation  of  being  at 
sea,  with  the  grandeur  and  without  the  misery  (as 
it  is  to  me)  of  such  a  situation.     Here  and  there   is 


t6o  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

an  oratory  out-jutting  from  the  line  of  planks,  with 
a  narrow  edging  of  stone  round  it. 

It  was  evening  when  I  came  upon  the  bridge,  but 
not  so  late  as  to  prevent  me  from  seeing  well  the 
country  about  me,  which  at  intervals  went  down 
mto  the  water  in  narrow  tongues  of  land,  with 
buildings  upon  them.  Immediately  on  the  heights 
above  me  were  an  old  tower  and  a  monastery. 
Near  the  land  some  giant  reeds  rose  up  from  the 
water,  but  did  not  sway  to  and  fro  the  least,  for 
there  was  not  a  breath  of  wind.  The  only  noise 
was  a  plash  of  the  water  against  a  jetty,  or  the  occa- 
sional jumping  of  a  fish.  On  one  of  the  strange- 
looking  rocks  there,  which  come  abruptly  out  of  the 
water  as  if  asking  you  a  question  from  the  deep, 
reposed  a  meditative  crane  standing  upon  one 
leo". 

On  one  side  of  the  bridge  the  hills  rise  up  around 
you  evenly,  and  the  mountains  arc  well  balanced  in 
form  :  on  the  other  side,  they  descend  abruptly  and 
ascend  again,  leaving  a  most  picturesque  gorge. 
Two  poplars  were  to  be  seen  on  the  lowland  near 
this  gorge. 

As  evening  deepened,  and  no  more  peasants 
returning  homeward  from  the  other  side  saluted  me 
with  their  Good-night,  the  houses  on  the  surrounding 


ro.\rPA\/oxs  or  j/r  solitude.  i6i 

hills  showed  like  glow-worms,  and  all  was  still,  save 
the  plash  of  the  water  on  the  jetty. 

I  find  that  new  places  do  not  always  bring  new 
thoughts  :  sometimes  they  only  intensify  those  which 
one  has  thought  before.  Jvly  mind  went  back  to 
what  is  held  by  many  persons  to  be  a  most  prosaic 
subject,  —  namely,  education.  And  I  thought  how 
edycation,  to  be  of  any  assured  worth,  must  continue 
throughout  life.  "  Now,  Sir,  that  your  education 
is  ended,"  exclaims  the  parent  or  the  guardian  to 
many  a  young  man  whose  education,  in  the  highest 
sense  of  the  word,  is  now  about  to  begin.  This  is 
the  mistake  that  we  make,  too,  aljout  the  poor. 
Reading  and  writing  will  not  do  alone.  You  might 
as  well  prepare  for  a  liberal  hospitality  by  a  good 
apparatus  for  roasting  and  boiling,  but  never  putting 
on  any  vianils,  so  that  tlie  kitchen  machinery  went 
on  grinding  unceasingly,  with  no  contentment  to 
the  appetites  of  the  hungry.  No :  before  we  shall 
be  able  to  make  much  of  education,  the  highest 
amongst  us  must  take  larger  views  of  it,  and  not 
suppose  that  it  is  a  mere  definite  quantity  of  culti- 
vation, —  defined  according  to  the  narrow  limits  of 
the  fashions  of  the  day. 

If  we  saw  this  clearly,  we  should  not  be  so  anx- 
ious to  succeed  at  college,  at  the  bar,  in  parliament, 
II 


l62  COMPANIONS    OF  MY  SOLITUDE, 

in  literature,  or  in  any  one  art  and  science.  We 
should  perceive  that  there  was  a  certain  greatness 
of  nature  and  acquirement  to  be  aimed  at,  which 
we  would  not  sacrifice  to  any  one  pursuit,  worldly 
or  artistic. 

I  stayed  no  longer  on  the  bridge,  but,  ascending 
from  it,  made  my  way  to  a  church  which  stood  on 
the  height  close  to  the  old  tower.  I  marked  in  J;he 
light  of  the  moon  the  slight,  graceful,  fantastic 
crosses  in  iron-work,  telling  that  a  peaceful  popula- 
tion slept  beside  me  ;  and  I  sat  down  upon  a  low, 
broad  stone  wall.  Thence  you  might  see  the  wide 
waters,  and  some  houses  whose  shadows  lay  upon 
the  meads  which  skirted  the  waters. 

"  And  that  is  what  all  their  ambition  has  come 
to,"  I  muttered  to  myself,  turning  to  the  crosses. 

"  Linquenda  tellus,  et  domus,  et  placens  " 

(what  an  epithet !) 

"Uxor:  ncque  haruin  quas  colis,  arboriim, 
Te,  pra;ter  invisas  cupressus, 

Ulla  brevem  dominuni  seqiietiir." 

These  inevitable  common-place  remarks  mostly 
contain  the  profoundcst  and  the  sinccrest  thought. 
Yes,  life  may  be  but  a  poor  business  at  the  best; 
nevertheless,  said  I  to  myself,  I  will  try  to  do  some- 


COMPAXIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE.  163 

thing  yet,  if  life  is  spared  to  mc.  And  so,  resuming 
the  subject  which  I  had  been  working  at  before  I 
left  home  (namely,  the  great  sin  of  great  cities),  I 
began  to  consider  what  I  should  conclude  by  saying, 
just  as  if  I  had  been  in  my  study  at  Worth-Asliton. 
My  eye  wandered  over  the  dark  hills,  catching 
every  now  and  then  the  glow-worm  light  which 
canie  from  some  house  or  cottage  perched  up  there. 
I  pictured  to  myself  the  daughter  of  one  of  these 
homes  carried  oft'  to  some  great  town,  soon  to  be 
lost  there  in  its  squalid  suburbs,  like  beautiful, 
spoilt  fruit  swept  away  with  garbage  into  the  com- 
mon kennel.  The  girl,  perhaps,  is  much  to  blame 
herself;  for  we  must  admit  tliat  tjie  fault  is  not  always 
on  one  side,  and  we  must  not  sutler  any  sickly  senti- 
ment to  darken  truth  and  justice.  Yes —  she  may  be 
much  to  blame ;  but,  surely,  the  wiser  creature, 
man,  is  more  so.  Seduction  is  such  a  poor  transac- 
tion. There  was  a  time,  it  was  one  of  the  basest 
times  the  world  has  ever  seen,  when  seduction  was 
thought  a  fine  and  clever  thing ;  but  now  who  docs 
not  see  that  to  delude  a  woman,  a  creature  easily  to 
be  deluded,  especially  through  its  aflections,  is  a 
slight,  unworthy  transaction,  and  but  for  its  dire 
consequences,  would  be  ludicrous  ;  like  cheating  u 
child  at  cards .^     But  when  you  add  to  this  that  in 


l54  COMPANIONS    OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

many  a  case,  desertion  follows  so  rapidly  upon  se- 
duction as  almost  to  appear  as  if  they  had  been 
planned  together,  then  the  smallness  of  the  transac- 
tion is  absolutely  lost  in  the  consideration  of  its  base- 
ness. 

However,  say  what  we  will,  there  will  often  be 
seductions ;  and  it  would  be  a  great  point  gained, 
if  desertion  should  be  looked  upon  with  greater  se- 
verity. This  brings  me  at  once  to  the  subject  of 
what  are  called  illegitimate  children. 

Now,  duties  are  very  often  very  difficult  things  to 
apprehend  rightly.  As  every  thing  is  ultimately  re- 
ferred to  duty,  and  as  a  great  many  things  in  this 
world  are  very  dubious,  it  is  manifest  that  duties  are 
often  very  dubious  likewise.  There  are  not  only 
clear,  but  dim  and  shadowy  duties,  if  I  may  so 
express  them,  which  are  very  perplexing,  and  occu- 
py much  of  a  man's  time  and  thought.  Often  we 
find  that  what  we  supposed  to  be  a  duty  was  any 
thing  but  a  dut}'.  The  great  j^ersecutors  for  opinion 
have  probably  found  that  out  now  ;  and,  indeed,  on 
earth,  we  often  discover  that  what  we  supposed  to 
be  a  duty  and  performed  with  earnest  diligence,  was 
a  great  delusion.  Under  these  circumstances,  it 
docs  seem  to  me  that  when  we  have  before  us  an 
undoubted  duty,  one  of  those  things  which  come 


CO.\fPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE.  165 

under  the  axioms  of  morality,  we  can  hardly  lay  too 
much  stress  on  the  performance  of  that.  It  is  like 
what  \vc  ought  to  do  in  our  charities,  I  think. 
Charity  is  so  difficult  and  perplexed  a  thing,  that 
when  a  man  has  got  hold  of  a  clearly  good  charity 
which  he  can  carry  out,  he  had  better  do  that  thor- 
oughly than  dissipate  his  resources,  mental  and 
physical,  in  any  cflbrts  of  a  dubious  tendency. 

Now,  I  suppose,  there  are  few  things  clearer  to 
the  human  mind, 

"To  saint,  to  savage,  and  to  sage," 

than  that  a  father  owes  duties  to  his  child.  The 
dullest  savages  have  seen  that.  Even  Lacedaemon- 
ians, if  they  put  off  individual  fatherhood,  only  did 
so  by  throwing  it  upon  the  community.  How  can 
a  man,  for  a  moment,  imagine  that  any  difference  of 
rank  (a  mere  earthly  arrangement)  between  the 
mother  of  his  child  and  himself  can  absolve  him 
from  paternal  duties.^  I  am  lost  in  astonishment  at 
the  notion.  And  then  imagine  a  man,  performing 
all  manner  of  minor  duties,  neglecting  this  llrst  one 
the  while.  I  always  fancy  that  we  may  be  sur- 
rounded by  spiritual  powers.  Now,  think  what  a 
horrible  mockery  it  must  seem  to  them,  when  they 
behold    a    man  going   to    charity   dinners,  busying 


l66  COMPANIONS    OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

himself  about  flannel  for  the  poor,  jabbering  about' 
education  at  public  meetings,  immersed  in  different 
forms  and  cei'emonies  of  religion,  or  raging  against 
such  things,  because  it  is  his  duty,  as  he  tells  you  ; 
and  at  the  door  holding  a  link,  or  perhaps  at  that 
moment  bringing  home  the  produce  of  small  thefts 
in  a  neighboring,  narrow  alley,  is  his  own  child,  a 
pinched-up,  haggard,  outcast,  cunning-looking  little 
thing.  Throw  down,  man,  the  flannel  and  the  soap 
and  the  education  and  the  Pojoery  and  Protestant- 
ism, and  go  up  that  narrow  alley  and  tend  your 
child  :  do  not  heap  that  palpably  unjust  burden  on 
the  back  of  a  world  which  has  enough  at  all  times 
of  its  own  to  bear.  If  you  cannot  find  your  own 
child,  adopt  two  others  in  its  place,  and  let  your 
care  for  them  be  a  sort  of  sin-oftering.  These  are 
indignant  words,  but  not  more  so  than  is  right,  I 
do  believe,  and  I  will  not  suppress  one  of  them. 

I  am  not  ignorant  of  the  difficulty  of  doing  as  I 
would  have  a  man  do  in  such  a  case.  I  do  not 
write  as  a  hermit  or  a  clergyman,  but  as  a  man  who 
thinks  he  knows  something  of  the  world.  To  own 
to  immorality,  to  have  that  foir  respectability  spotted 
which  we  all  value  so  much,  and  which  is  valuable, 
is  no  slight  effort.  A  man  who  would  beard  a  lion 
in  his  den,  will  shrink  from  doing  what  he  ought  to 


COMPANJOXS    OF  MY'  SOLITUDi:.  167 

do,  lest  in  so  doing  his  neighbors  should  say  un- 
pleasant words  about  him  behind  his  back.  And 
yet  there  have  been  respectable  men  who  have  worn 
beards  and  strange  hats  which  their  neighbors  did 
not  wear ;  a  more  daring  thing,  perhaps,  than  own- 
ing to  any  immorality  and  endeavoring  to  repair  it. 

There  are  men  who  have  secretly  supported  the 
burden  of  an  illegitimate  family:  these  at  least  are 
far  better  men  than  thcjsc  who  have  joined  the  world 
in  ignoring  the  existence  of  those  they  were  bound 
to  know  of  and  to  succor.  Great  kings,  who  can 
afford  to  set  aside  conventionality,  before  whom 
"  nice  custom  curtseys,"  have  boldly  taken  charge 
of  their  illegitimate  children,  and  the  world  has  not 
thought  the  worse  of  them  for  that,  whatever  it  may 
justly  have  thought  of  the  rest  of  their  proceedings. 

Some  may  reply,  all  this  acknowledgment  is 
encouragement.  I  say  not.  I  say  it  holds  before  a 
person  those  duties,  the  general  forgetfulness  of 
which  encourages  to  immorality.  But,  really,  fine 
questions  of  general  morality  ought  to  be  of  second- 
rate  importance  to  a  man  who  is  neglecting  his  first 
duties. 

Is  it  not  so.-*  I  said,  looking  round  upon  the  thin 
shadows  cast  by  the  crosses  over  the  graves.  Silent 
population    (any  one  of  whom,  the  meanest,   coulil 


l68  COMPANIONS  OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

now  tell  us  more,  mayhap,  than  all  the  wise  men 
and  doctors  of  this  earth),  silent  population,  is  it 
not  so  ?  But  none  answered,  unless  a  sigh  of  the 
breeze  which  now  stole  over  the  churchyai^d  was 
the  expression  of  one  of  those  subtle  chords  of  sym- 
pathy, rarely  heard,  still  more  rarely  appi'eciated, 
which,  perhaps,  bring  animate,  and  what  we  call 
inanimate,  nature   into  secret,  strange  communion. 

I  went  down  again  upon  the  bridge,  looked  up  at 
the  solemn  sky,  for  the  moon  was  clouded  now,  and 
beneath  me  at  the  dim  waters,  being  able  to  discern 
naught  else  :  and  still  with  some  regard  to  what  I 
had  been  thinking  of  in  the  chuixhyard,  hoped  that, 
in  a  future  state  at  least,  we  might  have  some  oppor- 
tunity of  loving  and  making  our  peace  with  those 
whom  we  have  wronged  here,  and  of  seeing  that 
our  wrong,  overruled  by  infinite  goodness,  has  not 
wrought  all  the  injury  which  there  was  in  it  to  do. 

So  I  walked  on,  having  those  dim  apprehensions 
and  undefined  feelings  which  are  yet,  perliaps,  the 
unfashioned  substance  of  our  sincerest  and  inost 
exact  afterthought,  until  darkness  and  the  cold  and 
the  thought  of  to-morrow's  journey  drove  me  home- 
ward, —  the  home  so  emblematical  for  man  in  his 
pilgi'image, —  the  home  of  an  inn. 


CHAPTER    X. 

Q*0  varied,  extensive,  and  pervading  are  human 
*^"^^  distresses,  sorrows,  shortcomings,  miseries, 
and  misadventures,  that  a  chapter  of  aid  or  consola- 
tion never  comes  amiss,  I  tliink.  There  is  a  pitiless, 
pelting  rain  this  morning  ;  heavily  against  my  study 
windows  drives  the  south-western  gale  ;  and  alto- 
gether it  is  a  very  fit  day  for  working  at  such  a  chap- 
ter. The  in-door  comforts  which  enable  one  to 
resist  with  composure,  nay  even  to  welcome,  this 
outward  conflict  and  hubbub,  are  like  the  plans  and 
resources  provided  by  philosophy  and  religion,  to 
meet  the  various  calamities  driven  against  the  soul 
in  its  passage  through  this  stormy  world.  The 
books  which  surround  me  have  been  found  an  equal 
resource  in  both  respects,  both  against  the  weather 
from  without  and  from  witliiii,  against  physical  and 
mental  storms :  and,  if  it  might  be  so,  I  would  pass 
on  to  others  the  comfort  which  a  seasonable  word 
has  often  brought  to  me. 

If  I  were  to  look  round  tlicse  shelves,  what  a  host 
of  well-loved   names  would   rise   up,  as  those  who 


170  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

have  said  brave  oi'  wise  words  to  comfort  and  aid 
their  brethren  in  adversity.  It  seems  as  if  little 
remained  to  be  said  ;  but  in  truth  there  is  always 
waste  land  in  the  human  heart  to  be  tilled. 

The  first  thing  which  occurs  to  me  is,  that  in 
bearing  misfortune  and  vexation,  as  in  overcoming 
temptation,  there  is  a  certain  confidence  which  had 
better  be  put  aside.  This  confidence  sometimes 
results  from  a  faith  in  reason,  or  rather  a  faith  in  our 
being  exactly  amenable  to  reason.  For  instance,  it 
is  some  time  before  a  man  ceases  to  have  a  full 
belief  in  his  own  powers  of  accomplishing  by  direct 
means  the  absolute  rule  in  his  mind.  If  he  is  con- 
vinced of  a  thing,  he  says  to  himself,  of  course  he 
will  act  accordingly.  It  astonishes  him  to  hear  of 
men — great  men — who  could  not  overcome,  or 
found  the  greatest  difficulty  in  overcoming,  some 
small  habit.  Indeed,  according  to  his  brave  imagin- 
ings, he  intends  always  to  overcome  terrors  and 
temptations,  not  merely  to  avoid  them.  Such  is  a 
very  juvenile  though  a  very  natural  mode  of  think- 
ing. It  requires  a  good  many  fallings  in  the  mire, 
before  a  man  finds  that  his  own  mind,  temperament, 
and  faculties,  are  things  which  will  give  him  as 
much  or  more  trouble  to  manage,  than  his  aftairs, 
or  his  family,  or  than  the  whole  world  besides. 


COMPANIONS    OF  MY  SOLITUDE.  I'Jl 

But  as  a  man  learns  certain  rules  of  health,  so  that 
it  is  saitl  that  at  forty  he  is  cither  a  fool  or  a  physician, 
so  again,  in  dealing  with  the  affections  of  the  mind, 
there  comes  a  skill  which  is  not  to  be  despised  :  and 
a  man  finds  that  the  evil  he  cannot  master  he  can 
ignore,  the  care  he  cannot  eflace  he  can  elude,  the 
felicity  he  cannot  accomplish  he  can  weigh  and 
understand,  and  so  reduce  it  from  the  size  it  would 
occupy  in  his  imagination  to  its  proper  and  reason- 
able limits.  At  last  even  sensitive  people  learn  to 
suffer  less  from  sensitiveness  ;  not  that  it  grows  dull 
by  age,  but  that  they  learn  to  manage  it  better. 

As  a  sound  preparation  for  consolation  of  various 
kinds,  I  would  begin,  not  by  wilfully  magnifying 
evils,  but  by  showing  their  true  proportions,  which 
no  doubt  makes  them  seem  larger  than  the  imagi- 
nation of  the  young,  mistaught  by  many  unsound 
fictions,  pictures  them  to  be.  But  nothing  can  be 
better  than  the  truth.  In  its  hand  are  all  earthly 
and  all  heavenly  consolations.  As  an  instance  of 
what  I  mean,  there  is  a  comnxjn  fancy  that  an 
untoward  event  generally  comes  and  goes  with  con- 
siderable rapidity,  —  and  there  an  end  ;  whereas  it 
is  very  often  a  long-continued  process.  You  do  not 
fall  sheer  down  a  precipice,  but  go  tumbling  by 
degrees,  drinking  in  the  full  measure  of  danger  and 


172  COMPANIONS   OF  MT  SOLITUDE. 

horror,  catching  at  bushes  here  and  there,  now 
imagining  for  a  moment  that  you  have  found  secur- 
ity on  some  projecting  ledge,  and  then  finding  the 
ground  crumbHng  under  you  ;  and  so  you  fall  on- 
wards till  you  reach  the  lowest  level.  The  above  is 
rather  a  strong  image,  but  it  may  convey  what  I  in- 
tend. 

To  illustrate  it  in  practice  —  most  men  who  have 
lived  any  time  in  the  world,  unless  they  have  been 
the  very  minions  of  fortune  (in  which  case,  by  the 
way,  they  are  not  much  to  be  envied) ,  have  vexations 
of  considerable  standing  —  long  lawsuits,  disastrous 
adventures,  an  ill-conducted  child,  or  some  other 
terrible  relative,  a  deplorable  shame,  often  such  a 
mingled  tissue  of  fault  and  misfortune,  that  they 
cannot  pity  themselves  sufficiently  for  blame  at  their 
folly ;  and  they  return  from  thinking  over  the  folly 
to  grieving  over  the  ill-luck  (as  they  call  it)  which 
brought  out  the  folly  so  remarkably  on  that  particular 
occasion. 

Such  a  course  of  things  requiring  time  for  its 
development,  can  liardly  fail  to  exercise  in  vexation 
all  the  moods  and  faculties  of  a  man.  A  statesman 
does  not  perhaps  work,  intellectually  speaking, 
harder  than  a  lawyer  in  great  practice  ;  but  the 
cares  of  the  latter  are  cares  which  begin  and  end 


CO.)f  PAX /OS'S    OF  J/r  SOLJTUD/:.  173 

with  the  day  ;  not  long  lines  of  policy  which  require 
time  and  protracted  care  on  one  subject  to  work  out, 
and  where  failure  often  conies  by  slow  degrees. 

Now,  then,  for  the  attempt  at  aid  or  consolation 
in  such  a  case.  Suppose  the  course  of  events  I  have 
spoken  of  to  be  one  of  failure  and  vexation  —  real- 
ized, or  about  to  be  so,  to  use  an  American  phrase, 
and  a  very  good  one.  A  wise  man  (but  that  word 
"wise  "  is  hardly  a  fit  adjective  to  put  before  "  man," 
it  would  be  better  to  say,  a  man  well-read  in  the 
heart)  sees  when  he  has  suflered  enough  from  these 
lengthened  trains  of  evils,  when  he  has  exhausted 
the  instruction  from  them  ;  and  though  from  time 
to  time  he  may  revert  to  them,  as  new  views  or  new 
circumstances  occur,  enabling  him  to  look  down 
from  a  fresh  height,  as  it  were,  on  these  long,  dreary, 
disastrous  passages  of  his  life,  yet  he  resolves  sub- 
stantially to  have  done  with  them  ;  and  when  he 
finds  them  invading  his  mind  and  memory,  adroitly 
he  contrives  at  once  to  occupy  it  with  something 
else. 

With  his  wisdom  of  this  world,  Napoleon,  no 
doubt,  took  care  not  to  let  his  Russian  campaign 
press  fatally  upon  his  recollections. 

Anotlier  way  for  a  man  in  such  a  case  is  to  quote 
these  disasters  fearlessly  to  himself,  and  sometimes 


174  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

to  others,  as  dear-bought  bits  of  experience,  now 
possessions  ;  bought,  it  is  true,  at  a  most  extravagant 
price,  but  still  a  little  property,  far  better  than 
nothing. 

There  is  great  humility  in  such  plans  as  the  above  : 
the  man  who  adopts  them  has  found  out,  or  at  least 
he  thoroughly  suspects,  his  own  weakness,  and  is 
willing  to  avail  himself  of  any  fair  advantage  to  fight 
with  the  numerous  enemies  that  surround  him. 
Like  a  wise  commander,  he  looks  about  for  the 
slightest  rising  ground. 

The  same  adroitness  and  practical  wisdom  may 
be  manifested,  not  only  in  thought  but  in  action.  A 
fi'iend  of  mine  who  had  to  attend  a  series  of  inter- 
views, in  which  business  was  discussed  of  much 
vexation  to  him,  and  where  he  had  to  undergo, 
justly,  much  contumely,  discovered  that  the  occasions 
when  he  gave  way  to  temper  and  behaved  unwisely, 
were  those  in  which  he  rode  on  a  tiresome  horse  to 
the  place  of  business.  This  is  very  natural :  his 
nerves  were  a  little  ruffled  in  managing  tlie  unruly 
quadruped ;  his  powers  a  little  impaired  ;  his  com- 
posure slightly  broken  through  to  begin  with  :  and, 
where  things  are  nicely  balanced,  this  slight  dis- 
turbance of  equanimity  might  turn  the  scale.  After- 
wards he  took  care  to  go  to  the  place   of  these 


COMrANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE.  175 

inten-iews  always  in  tlic  easiest  manner,  and  noted 
the  good  ertect  of  this  change.  How  trivial  such  an 
anecdote  will  seem,  except  to  those  who  know  the 
world  well,  and  have  seen  how  important  small 
things  may  be  when  they  happen  to  be  brought  into 
the  same  narrow  compass  of  aflairs  with  great  ones. 

But  now,  to  pass  to  other  subjects  of  human  dis- 
tress, and  first  among  them,  to  all  that  is  suflered 
from  obloquy. 

In  bearing  obloquy  it  may  be  noted,  by  way  of  conso- 
lation, that  the  world  is  always  correcting  its  opinions  ; 
that — except  amongst  your  particular  friends  and  re- 
lations, who  have,  perhaps,  taken  up  a  most  erroneous 
view  of  your  character,  and,  in  the  pride  of  a  little 
knowledge,  will  never  let  it  go  —  the  general  body  of 
opinion  is  very  fluent,  and,  at  last,  every  thing  has  a 
hearing.  I  have  a  private  suspicion  of  my  own,  that 
some  of  those  Roman  emperors  we  read  of  have  been 
maligned  a  little.  Somebody  else  perhaps  has  the 
same  notion ;  if  it  is  a  just  one  it  will  yet  be  inves- 
tigated, and  what  there  is  true  in  it  be  sifted  out. 

It  is  certainly  a  long  time  to  wait,  for  ages,  to 
have  an  unjust  opinion  of  you  corrected  ;  but  if  fame 
is  worth  any  thing  at  all,  then  there  is  a  consolation 
in  thinking  that  eventually  you  have  a  chance  of 
being   fairly  dealt  with. 


176  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

By  way  of  comfort  in  bearing  calumny,  it  maybe 
observed  that  calumny  does  not  originate  in  the  way 
ordinarily  supposed  ;  that  there  is  rarely  any  such 
thing  as  a  system  of  active,  well-regulated,  well-aimed 
calumny,  arising  out  of  malice  prepense  ;  but  that  far 
more  often  it  has  its  source  in  honest  ignorance, 
mean-mindedness,  or  absolute  mistake.  It  is  to  be 
viewed,  therefore,  in  the  light  of  a  misfortune,  rather 
than  in  that  of  a  persecution. 

Any  man  of  many  ti^ansactions  can  hardly  expect 
to  go  through  life  without  being  subject  to  one  or  two 
very  severe  caluinnies.  Amongst  these  many  trans- 
actions, some  few  will  be  with  very  ill-conditioned 
people,  with  very  ignorant  people,  or  perhaps  with 
monomaniacs  (and  much  less  account  is  taken  of  them 
than  ought  to  be),  and  he  cannot  expect,  therefore, 
but  that  some  narrative  of  a  calumnious  kind  will 
have  its  origin  in  one  of  these  transactions.  It  may 
then  be  fixnned  by  any  accidental  breeze  of  malice 
or  ill-fortune,  and  become  a  very  serious  element  of 
mischief  to  him.  Such  a  thing  is  to  be  looked  upon 
as  pure  misfortune  coming  in  the  ordinary  course  of 
events ;  and  the  way  of  treating  it  is  to  deal  with  it 
as  calmly  and  philosophically  as  with  any  other  mis- 
fortune. As  some  one  has  said,  the  mud  will  rub  off 
when  it  is  dry,  and  not  before.    The  drying  will  not 


CO.UPAXIONS  OF  ^fr  solitude.         177 

always  come  in  the  calumniated  man's  time,  unless 
in  favorable  seasons,  which  he  cannot  command.  It 
is  not  wise,  however,  to  be  very  impatient  to  justify 
one's  self;  and,  altogether,  too  much  stress  sliould 
not  be  laid  upon  calumny  by  the  calumniated,  else 
their  serious  work  will  be  for  eVcr  interrupted  ;  and 
they  should  remember  tliat  it  is  not  so  much  their 
business  to  explain  to  others  all  they  do,  as  to  be 
sure  that  it  will  bear  explanation  and  satisfy  them- 
selves. 

When  I  was  in  the  liabit  of  seeing  something  of 
official  life,  I  used  to  wonder  tliat  a  great  department 
suflcr^d  itself  to  be  calumniated,  and  made  no  sign  ; 
but  older  and  wiser  heads  than  mine  soon  convinced 
me  that  their  business  did  not  admit  of  their  con- 
futing every  idle  and  erroneous  statement  that  was 
made  about  them,  and  that  they  were  mainly  to 
answer  to  those  persons  who  had  authority  to  ques- 
tion them.  The  same  judicious  maxim  applies  also 
to  private  life. 

Not  far  removed  from  calumny,  and  often  leading 
up  to  it,  is  injurious  comment  on  people's  conduct ; 
which  when  addressed  or  repeated  to  them,  or  im- 
agined bv  them,  is  apt  to  vex  them  sorely.  But 
really  if  it  were  considered  how  utterly  incompetent 
12 


178  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

men  are  to  talk  of  the  conduct  of  others,  as  they  do, 
the  talkers  would  often  be  silenced  at  once,  and  the 
sufferers  as  readily  consoled.  In  the  first  place  how 
imperfect  is  our  knowledge  of  our  neighbor's  circum- 
stances. You  suppose  a  man  rich,  and  he  is  poor ; 
or  rich,  but  with  perils,  claims,  and  responsibilities 
of  which  you  know  nothing ;  you  suppose  him 
healthy,  and  he  is  tortured  by  some  internal  disease  ; 
you  suppose  him  unhappy  in  his  domestic  relations, 
and  he  is  most  felicitous  ;  or,  on  the  other  hand,  you 
suppose  him  lapped  in  the  loving  regards  of  his 
family,  and  all  the  while  he  has  a  wretched,  con- 
tentious home ;  you  suppose  him  a  man  of  leisure, 
and  he  is  cumbered  with  cares,  duties,  labors,  and 
endeavors,  of  which  you  have  not  the  slightest  con- 
ception—  what  is  your  comment  on  this  man's  con- 
duct worth .''  Then  if  we  observe  the  difference  of 
men's  natures,  and  consider  the  want  of  imagination 
in  most  men  which  confines  them  to  the  just  appre- 
ciation of  those  natures  only  which  are  like  their 
own,  how  much  this  complicates  the  question.  Prob- 
ably the  difference  of  temperament  amongst  men  is 
as  great  as  that  amongst  the  different  species  of  ani- 
mals —  as  between  that,  for  instance,  of  the  lively 
squirrel  and  the  solemn  crane.  Now,  if  only  from 
this  difference  between  them,  the  squirrel  would  be 


^      CO.UPAX/OXS    OF  ^fY  SOIJTUDE.  1 79 

a  bad  judge  of  the  felicity,  or  generosity,  or  the  do- 
mestic conduct,  of  the  crane. 

Probably  when  we  are  thinking  or  talking  of  a 
person,  we  recall  some  visual  image  of  that  person. 
I  have  thouglit  what  an  instructive  thing  it  would 
be,  if  under  some  magic  influence,  like  that,  for  ex- 
ample, which  would  construct  a  "  palace  of  truth," 
it  were  arranged  that  as  we  gave  out  our  comments 
on  the  character  or  conduct  of  any  person,  this  image 
on  the  retina  of  memory  should  change  according  to 
the  truth,  or  rather  the  want  of  it,  in  our  remarks. 
Gradually,  feature  after  feature  would  steal  away  till 
we  gazed  at  nonentity ;  or  we  shoidd  ihnl  another 
image  glide  into  the  field  of  view,  somebody  we  had 
never  seen  perhaps,  but  to  whom  the  comments  we 
were  uttering  really  did  apply. 

Now,  the  sulVcrcrs  from  iniurious  and  unjust  com- 
ment might  treat  the  whole  thing  as  one  which  lacked 
reality.  The  Ulame  itself  is  often  good  enough,  well- 
compacted,  forcible,  having  an  appearance  of  justice 
—  Init  withal  no  foundation  in  real  circumstances,  so 
that  it  is  only  good,  if  you  may  say  so,  in  a  literary 
sense,  as  good  fiction,  but  having  no  ground-work  in 
real  life.  How  little  ought  a  thoughtful  man  to  be 
long  vexed  at  such   stutl",  immaterial  in  every  sense. 

Besides,  none  of  tlie  great  teachers  have  taught  us, 


I  So  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE.      «■ 

that  to  be  reviled  is  any  signal  misfortune  ;  and  there 
has  been  one,  the  greatest,  who  has  pronounced  it  to 
be  fraught  with  blessing. 

In  bearing  neglect,  the  next  evil  to  calumny,  and  a 
sort  of  disengaged  shadow  of  it,  many  aids  may  be 
given  to  those  who  will  be  content  to  take  them. 
No  doubt  neglect  is  hard  to  bear  for  one  who  feels 
that  he  ought  not  to  be  neglected.  But  where  this  is 
justly  felt,  the  neglect  may  generally  be  traced  up  to 
some  source  which  is  not,  necessarily,  a  painful  one. 
A  man  will  not  condescend  to  use  certain  means,  and 
yet  would  have  what  those  means  alone,  or  best,  can 
give  him  ;  or  he  insists,  in  his  mental  cogitations, 
upon  possessing  that  which  could  hardly  be  got  ex- 
cept with  the  aid  of  certain  advantages  joined  to 
merit,  which  advantages,  whether  wisely  or  not. 
Nature  or  Fortune  has  denied  him.  Having  one 
stout  friend  (as  Bacon,  before  quoted,  has  noticed), 
what  will  it  not  do  for  a  man  }  There  are  certain 
things  he  cannot  say  for  himself.  If  he  says  them, 
they  turn  into  sliame,  vain-glory,  and  mischief,  in- 
stead of  aid  and  honor  to  him.  Well,  he  has  no  friend 
to  back  him  at  the  right  time,  how  can  he  get  those 
advantages  which  such  a  friend  could  gracefully  ob- 
tain for  him?  Fre(][uently,  perhaps  most  frequently, 
the  friend  in  question  comes  forward  in  the  shape  of 


COMPANIONS    OF  MY  SOLITUDE.  i8l 

a  rtlaliun  who  lias  a  direct  interest  in  the  fortunes  of 
tlie  man  he  jDuts  forward.  This  is  called  having  good 
connections.  Any  neglected  man  of  merit  ought  not 
to  sutler  himself  to  be  quite  disheartened  because  he 
was  not  ])orn  with  such  relations.  Neither  were  the 
poor  men  who  dig  in  the  fields. 

But  neglect  is  only  one  phase  of  what  man  hates 
more,  and  sulfers  more  from,  than  almost  any  thing 
else  —  namely,  injustice.  His  sensitiveness  in  this 
respect  is  very  remarkable.  A  little  wrong  out- 
weighs a  great  injury.  Indeed,  the  things  are  not  to 
be  weighed  in  the  same  scales,  arc  practically  in- 
commensurable. The  sea  invades  a  man'sestate,  and 
retires  carrying  away  land  and  crops,  leaving  sand 
where  there  was  alluvial  soil :  it  is  a  misfortune  ; 
and  he  has  a  dull  sense  of  sorrow  and  vexation  if  the 
loss  is  one  of  magnitude.  But  the  poor  blind  ele- 
ments meant  no  harm,  or  if  he  thinks  they  were 
guided,  he  knows  it  was  by  One  whose  chastisements 
must  be  blessings. 

Again,  suppose  him  to  have  spent  much  money  in 
riotous  living.  \Vcll,  he  thinks  of  this  with  shame, 
especially  when  some  good  comes  in  his  way  to  do, 
and  he  sees  what  he  might  have  done  with  the 
squandered  resources.  Still  there  was  something  for 
his  money.    lie  was  not  cheated;  he  was  mistaken. 


l82  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

But  obsei"ve  the  same  man  on  looking  over  a  bill 
of  costs :  where  often,  for  many  items  together,  it  is 
only  wrong-doing  requiring  to  be  paid,  and  he  feels 
that  when  .he  pays  it,  he  is  helping  to  support  a 
vicious  system  of  things.  It  is  not  well  to  be  of  his 
fiimily  circle  on  the  day  when  he  settles  those  ac- 
counts, unless  he  is  one  of  those  rare  and  genei'ous 
creatures  who  do  not  mitigate  their  own  misfortunes 
by  unkindness  to  those  with  whom  they  live.  No 
liberality  of  nature  will  suffice  to  soothe  his  mind. 
It  is  not  a  question  of  liberality.  The  same  man 
who,  with  Luther,  would  say  to  his  wife,  "  Why 
did  we  not  give  the  silver  cup  to  that  poor  man  as 
we  had  no  money }  "  will  haggle  over  an  unjust  or 
unsatisfactory  payment  from  morning  till  night. 
But  it  is  a  question  of  wisdom  and  experience  :  for 
a  wise  and  well-informed  man  will  see  wliat  must 
almost  inevitably  be  the  evil  results  of  the  particular 
form  of  laws  he  lives  under  (for  codes  are  the  doings 
of  very  imperfect  creatures  with  a  limited  range  of 
circumstances  before  them),  and  he  does  not  expect 
to  go  into  the  most  vexed  and  troublous  part  of 
human  affairs,  and  come  out  with  smooth  coun- 
tenance and  unruffled  garments.  Neither  will  such 
a  man  be  disposed  to  imagine  that  he  is  worse  off 
than  others,  or  has  worse  people  to  deal  with. 


coMPAywNS  OF  .vy  solitude.         1.S3 

And  the  same  thing  is  to  be  said  of  injustice 
generally.  You  often  hear  a  man  making  the  some- 
what simple  complaint,  that  he  only  wants  justice. 
Only  justice  !  why  justice  requires  time,  insight,  and 
goodness :  and  you  demand  this  in  each  case  of  the 
many  hundreds  that  occur  to  you  in  the  course  of  a 
year  in  which  your  fellow-beings  have  some  dealings 
with  you.  No — justice  !  look  not  for  it  till  you  are 
in  a  state  of  being  for  which  you  will  hardly  say 
tliat  you  are  yet  quite  fit.  In  truth,  the  considera- 
tion of  what  a  world  of  misunderstanding,  haste, 
blindness,  passion,  indolence,  and  private  interest 
we  are  in  the  thick  of  (pcrliaps  the  beauty  of  it  as  a 
world  of  trial)  would  go  some  little  way  to  cure  a 
man  from  vexing  the  depths  of  his  soul,  because  he 
sutlers  from  extortion,  misrepresentation,  neglect,  or 
injustice  of  any  kind.  lie  is  on  earth:  and  men 
are  unjust  to  him.     How  ludicrous  the  complaint ! 

Pcrliaps  the  wrongs  we  endure  from  unjust  treat- 
ment would  be  easier  to  bear,  if  our  notions  of  jus- 
lice  were  modified  a  little.  For  my  part,  instead  of 
picturing  her,  sword  in  hand,  apparently  engaged  in 
bhndly  weighing  out  small  groceries  —  a  figure  tliat 
wovdd  better  denote  the  goddess  Fortune  as  it  seems 
to  me  —  I  imagine  Justice  travelling  swiftly  round 


184  COMPANIONS    OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

about  the  earth,  difllising  a   mild   effluence  of  light 
like  that  of  a  polar  night,  but  followed  not  by  her 
own  attendants,  but  by  the  ungainly  shadows  of  all 
evil  things,  envy  and  prejudice,  indolence  and  self- 
ishness, her  enemies  ;    and  these  shadows  lay  them- 
selves down  before  her  in  their  malice,  and  love  to 
intercept  her  light.      The   aspect  of  a  good   man 
scares  them  partially  away,  and  then  her  light  lies 
in  great  broad  spaces  on  the  mead :  with   most  of 
us,  it  is  chequered  like  the  sunshine  under  trees  ;  and 
there  are  poor  creatures  in  whose  presence  all  the 
evil  shadows  descend,  leaving  but  a  streak  of  light 
here  and  a  spot  there,  where  the  hideous  shadows 
do  not  quite  fit  in  together.     Happily,  however,  all 
these  shadows  are  mortal,  and  as  they  die  away,  dark 
miserable  places  come  into  light  and  life  again,  and 
truth  returns  to  them  as  her  abodes  for  ever. 

Descending  from  these  flights  about  justice  to  the 
more  f)rosaic  parts  of  the  subject,  I  may  notice,  that 
mean  misfortunes  arc  often  the  most  difficult  to  bear. 
There  is  no  instrument  of  philosophy  small  enough 
to  take  them  up  and  deal  with  them.  A  long  career 
of  small  anxieties  is  also  very  hard  to  bear. 

One  thing  which  often  maintains  these  vexations 
in  full  force,  is  the  shame  of  owning  to  our  want  of 


COMPANIONS    OF  MY  SOL/ TUBE.  185 

wisdom  iu  the  lust  instance.  A  man,  playing  in 
imagination  his  part  iu  life,  always,  like  the  story- 
books, makes  his  hero  successful  in  the  end  ;  and, 
therefore,  in  real  life,  he  is  immensely  disturbed  and 
humiliated  at  finding  that  sucii  is  the  devilry  of  cir- 
cumstances, that  if  he  only  gives  a  little  inlet  to 
mischance  by  folly  or  incautiousness  of  any  kind,  he 
is  sometimes  invaded  by  a  flood  of  evil. 

lie  bears  this  in  secret,  struggling  with  all  his  might 
and  eating  his  own  heart,  as  it  were,  rather  than  own 
to  the  folly  he  committed  at  first.  Nothing  less  will 
satisfy  him  than  to  retrieve  the  whole  misfortune,  and 
cancel  by  success  his  first  error.  Thus  we  come  to 
one  more  instance  of  the  truth  that  Pride  applies  the 
scourge  more  frequently  and  with  far  heavier  hand 
than  Penitence  ;  with  the  hand,  in  fact,  of  another. 

As  regards  the  "  career  of  small  anxieties,"  which  I 
spoke  of  above,  one  great  art  of  managing  with  them, 
is  to  cease  thinking  about  them  just  at  that  point 
where  thought  becomes  morbid.  It  will  not  do  to  say 
that  such  anxieties  may  not  demand  some  thought, 
and,  occasronally,  much  thought.  But  there  comes 
a  time  when  thought  is  wasted  upon  these  anxieties  ; 
when  you  find  yourself  in  your  thoughts  going  over 
the  same  ground  again  and  again  to  no  purpose, 
deepening  annoyance   instead   of  enlarging   insight 


l86  COMPANIONS   OF  MT  SOLITUDE. 

and  providing  remedy.  Then  the  thing  would  be 
to  be  able  to  speak  to  these  fretting  little  cai'es, 
like  Lord  Burleigh  to  his  gown  of  state,  when 
he  took  it  oft' for  the  night,  "  Lie  there,  Lord  Treas- 
urer." 

It  must  be  remembered  though  that  his  cares, 
assured  as  he  was  of  his  mistress's  favor,  were  for 
the  most  part  mere  business  cares,  and  did  not 
exactly  correspond  with  the  small  anxieties  which  I 
was  speaking  of.  These  are  very  hard,  I  suspect, 
to  dismiss.  Perhaps  the  best  way  of  getting  rid  of 
them  is  not  to  attempt  too  much  at  once,  but  at 
least  to  change  the  cares,  so  as  not  to  let  one  set 
prey  upon  the  mind  and  make  it  become  morbid  — 
just  as  Newton,  unable  to  go  abruptly  from  his 
high,  absorbing  thoughts  to  what  most  men  would 
consider  recreation,  merely  adopted  a  change  of 
study,  and  found  his  relief  therein. 

There  is  often  a  very  keen  annoyance  suffered  by 
sensitive  and  high-minded  people,  arising  from  dis- 
satisfaction with  their  own  work.  I  should  be.  very 
sorry  to  say  any  thing  that  would  seem  like  encour- 
agement to  slight  or  unconscientious  woi'king,  but 
to  the  anxious,  truth-seeking,  high-minded,  fastidi- 
ous man,  I  would  sometimes  venture  to  say,  "  My 
good  friend,   if  we  could  work  out  our  ideal,  we 


COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE.  ihj 

should  be  angels.  There  is  eternity  to  do  it  in. 
But  now  come  down  from  your  pedestal,  and  do  not 
overfret  yourself,  because  30ur  hand,  or  your  mind, 
or  your  soul,  will  not  fulfil  all  that  you  would  have 
it.  There  have  been  men  before  you,  and  probably 
will  come  others  after  you,  whose  deeds,  however 
much  approved  of  by  the  general  voice,  seemed,  or 
will  seem,  to  the  men  themselves  little  better  than  a 
caricature  of  their  aspirations." 

How  much,  by  the  way,  accomplishments  of 
various  kinds  would  come  in  to  help  men  to  get  rid 
of  over-riding  small  cares  and  petty  anxieties. 
These  accomplishments  mostly  appeal  to  another 
world  of  thought  and  feeling  than  that  in  which  the 
little  troubles  were  bred.  The  studious,  the  busy, 
and  the  sorrowful  might  find  in  art  a  change  of 
thought  which  nothing  else,  at  least  of  worldly 
things,  could  give  them.  And  the  accomplishments 
I  mean  would  be  of  use  on  occasions  when  there  is 
no  need,  and  where  it  is  scarcely  fitting,  to  summon 
forth  the  solemn  aid  of  religion  or  philosophy.  Not 
that  I  woukl  have  such  aid  far  distant  from  any 
mind,  or  on  any  occasion  :  for  there  is  a  comfort 
and  a  sobriety  of  mind  to  be  gained  from  the  great 
topics  of  consolation  which  nothing  else  can  surely 
give. 


l88  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

In  considering  various  forms  of  unhappiness, 
which  has  been  the  business  of  this  chapter,  for  the 
purpose  of  providing  some  small  aids  and  consola- 
tions, one  form  has  occurred  to  me  which  is  not 
uncommon,  I  imagine. 

It  is  where  an  almost  infinite  regret  enters  the 
mind  at  some  happiness  having  been  missed  whicii 
in  imagination  seems  the  one,  possible,  present  good 
to  the  person  indulging  the  imagination ;  and  the 
men  or  women  in  this  sad  case  go  on  all  their  days 
mourning  or  fretting  for  want  of  that  imagined 
felicity.  This  must  often  occur  in  the  midst  of  great 
seeming  prosperity,  which  deepens  the  vexation, 
and  gives  an  air  of  especial  mockery  to  it. 

To  find  consolation  for  this  state  of  mind  may  not 
be  easy ;  still  there  are  medicaments  even  for  it. 
Imagine  the  hap2:)iness  in  question  gained,  fond 
dreamer ;  do  you  not  already  see  some  diminution 
of  the  happiness  itself,  —  it  will  only  be  from  lack 
of  imagination  if  you  do  not,  —  but  at  any  riate  do 
you  not  at  least  perceive  how  many  fears  such 
happiness  would  throw  you  open  to?  "Ah,  Da- 
vy," said  Johnson  to  Garrick,  after  going  over  his 
new  house  and  looking  at  the  fine  things  there, 
"  these  arc  the  things  that  make  a  death-bed  ter- 
rible." 


COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE.  189 

Every  felicity,  iiulecd,  as  well  as  wife  and  chil- 
dren, is  a  hostaj^e  to  Fortune. 

Lastly,  there  is  to-be  said  of  all  suffering  that  it  is 
experience.  I  have  forgotten  in  whose  life  it  is  to 
be  found,  but  there  is  some  man  who  went  out  of 
liis  way  to  provide  himself  with  every  form  of 
human  misery  which  he  could  get  at.  I  do  not, 
myself,  see  any  occasion  for  any  man's  going  out  of 
the  way  to  provide  misfortune  for  himself.  Like  an 
eminent  physician  he  might  stay  at  home,  and  find 
almost  every  form  of  human  misery  knocking  at  his 
door.  But  still  I  understand  what  this  chivalrous 
inquirer  meant,  who  sought  to  taste  all  suficring  for 
the  sake  of  the  experience  it  would  give  him. 

There  is  this  admirable  common-place,  too, 
which,  from  long  habit  of  being  introduced  in  such 
discourses,  wishes  to  come  in  before  I  conclude  ; 
namely,  that  infelicities  of  various  kinds  belong  to 
the  state  here  below.  Who  are  we  that  we  should 
not  take  our  share  ?  See  the  slight  amount  of  per- 
sonal happiness  requisite  to  go  on  with.  In  noisome 
dungeons,  subject  to  studied  tortures,  in  abject  and 
shifty  poverty,  after  consummate  shame,  upon  tre- 
mendous change  of  fortune,  in  the  profoundest  des- 
olation of  mind  and  soul,  in  forced  companionship 
with    all  that    is   unlovely    and  uncongenial,    men, 


190  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

persevering  nobly,  live  on  and  live  through   it  all. 

The  mind,  like  water,  as  described  in  that  beautiful 

passage  in  Metastasio  which  I  will  transcribe  below, 

passes  through   all  states,  till   it  shall  be  united  to 

what  it   is  ever  seeking.     The   very  loneliness  of 

man  here  is  the  greatest  proof,  to  my  mind,  of  a  God. 

"L'onda  dal  mar  divisa 
Bagna  la  valle  e'l  monte; 
Va  passeggiera 
In  fiume, 
Va  prigioniera 
In  fonte, 

Mormora  sempr&e  geme, 
Fin  che  non  torna  al  mar; 
Al  mar  dov'  ella  nacque, 
Dove  acquisto  gli  umori, 
Dove  da'  lunghi  errori 
Spera  di  riposar." 

Such  were  my  thoughts  this  wet  day,  which  I 

had  made  up   my   mind  was  to  be   a  dreary  day 

throughout ;  but  I  had  hardly  come  to  the  end  of 

what  I  had  to  say,  when   (may  it  be  a  good  omen 

that  the  chapter   itself  may  bring    some    cheer  to 

some  one  in  distress),  the  sun  peeped  out,  the  drops 

of  rain  upon  the  leaves   glistened  in   the   sunshine 

like  afflictions  beautified  by  heavenly  thoughts,  and 

all  nature  invited  me  out  to  enjoy  the  gladness  of 

her  aspect,  more  glad  by  contrast  with  her  formei 

friendly  gloom. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

''  I  ^HE  sun  came  out  brilliantly  this  morning.  To 
be  sure,  there  was  a  chilliness  in  the  air ;  but 
if  you  walked  about  with  vigor,  and  said  it  was  a 
charming  morning,  it  gradually  became  so.  An 
eccentric  friend  of  mine,  of  the  Johnsonian  school, 
maintains  that  all  kinds  of  weather  may  be  treated 
in  a  similar  manner,  and  says,  that  if  a  man  will  go 
out  in  tlic  rain  without  any  defence  and  pretend  to 
know  nothing  about  the  showers,  the  rain  will  cease 
for  him,  each  drop  exclaiming,  "  It  is  no  use  rain- 
ing upon  that  man,  he  does  not  mind  it."  Whether 
my  friend  has  a  moral  meaning  to  this  fable  of  his, 
I  do  not  know ;  and,  indeed,  it  is  difficult  to  sound 
the  depths  of  some  men's  humor,  the  deepest  part 
of  their  nature. 

As  I  walked  up  and  down  under  the  shelter  of  a 
wall,  so  that  I  might  have  tlie  full  benefit  of  the  sun's 
rays,  I  could  not  help  thinking  that  the  sun  had 
been  very  little  worshipped  by  idolaters.  In  fact, 
he  is  too  manifest  a  benefactor  to  be  much  idolized. 


192  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

Moixover,  what  the  natural  man  likes  to  worship, 
is  some  ugly  little  idol,  an  incarnation  of  one  or 
other  of  his  own  bad  passions.  I  suppose  the  real 
explanation  is,  that  the  form  of  the  sun  being  a  sim- 
ple one,  essentially  belonging  to  the  inanimate  world, 
provoked  no  desire  to  worship,  and  left  no  room  for 
sufficient  mystery.  So,  after  all,  it  is  perhaps  a 
proof  of  the  craving  imagination  of  mankind  that 
the  sun  has  had,  comparatively  speaking,  but  few 
worshippers,  while  an  ungainly  stone,  or  a  thing 
with  many  hands  and  legs,  has  enjoyed  the  tenderest 
adoration. 

Then  I  thought  if  our  senses  were  finer,  what  an 
exquisite  sight  it  would  be,  to  behold  all  the  inani- 
mate world  turning  gently  to  the  sun  each  day ;  a 
fact  which  we  only  perceive  in  the  results  of  such 
fond  looks  for  many  years,  as  exhibited  in  the  growth 
of  trees  :  whereas,  if  our  senses  were  more  delicately 
apprehensive,  we  might  see  every  leaf,  bud,  and  twig 
making  its  little  way  towards  the  light,  and  all  na- 
ture, like  one  sunflower,  bending  slightly  forwards 
in  a  supplicating  attitude  to  the  sun. 

Warming  with  the  subject  I  exclaimed,  this  is  quite 
an  Italian  sky  —  rather  home-made,  was  the  disparag- 
ing second  thought.  In  such  a  mood  it  was  Vjery  nat- 
ural to  think  of  foreign  travel.   I  looked  at  the  fig-trees 


COMPANIONS   OF  M7  SOLITUDE.  197 

against  tlic  wall,  and  felt  that  they  must  be  rather 
disgusted  at  the  climate  which  needed  such  a  posi- 
tion for  them.  However,  said  I,  it  is  only  what  the 
greatest  men  have  had  to  endure,  to  live  in  an  un- 
congenial clime  and  to  bring  forth  fruit  with  painful 
culture  and  under  most  adverse  circumstances ;  so 
you  must  not  complain,  though  you  are  nailed  up 
against  the  wall.  On  went  my  mind  to  a  particular 
fig-tree  near  Cordova,  from  thence  down  the  Guadal- 
quiver ;  when  I  saw  again  the  beautiful  birds  come 
out  of  the  sandy  banks  of  the  river ;  and,  in  truth, 
I  was  in  a  full  career  of  travel,  when  it  occurred  to 
me  that  I  had  often  thought  many  things  about  trav- 
elling, and  that  it  might  be  useful  to  put  them  to- 
gether. So,  walking  up  and  down,  like  a  peripatetic 
philosopher,  only  with  no  disciples  (which,  by  the 
way,  is  a  safer  thing  for  the  discovery  of  truth),  I 
put  into  some  order  the  following  remarks  on  travel. 

A  journey  has  often  been  compared  to  a  life,  I 
suppose  that  in  any  comparison  so  frequently  used 
there  must  be  some  aptitude  ;  but  it  does  not  strike 
me.  Any  one  day  is  like  a  life,  is  indeed  an  epitome 
of  it :  morning,  noon,  evening,  awaking  and  going  to 
sleep,  have  all  the  closest  analogy  with  the  progress 
of  a  life.  But  a  journey  is  often  very  dissimilar  to  a 
13 


194  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

life.  In  travelling,  for  instance,  for  pleasure,  you  go 
out  with  much  hope  of  delight :  the  delight  is  partly 
realized  ;  but  there  is  much  that  is  untoward,  and 
which,  at  the  time,  prevents  a  thorough  enjoyment 
and  appreciation  of  what  you  do  see.  You  return 
with  joy,  and  the  journey  is  afterwards  stored  up  in 
the  memory  as  a  complete  pleasure  ;  all  the  mishaps 
being  put  into,  what  the  Dutch  call  "  the  forget 
book,"  or  only  remembered  as  interesting  incidents. 
Clearly,  one  of  the  main  delights  is  in  the  recollec- 
tion. Now,  we  cannot  venture  to  say  whether  that 
will  be  the  case  with  the  journey  of  life.  There 
does  not  appear  much  promise  of  that. 

I  took  a  turn  up  and  down  the  garden,  and 
thought  over  that  last  suggestion,  which  is  a  very 
serious  one.  Soon,  however,  I  returned  to  the  sub- 
ject of  travelling. 

Yes,  I  said  to  myself,  certainly  there  is  great 
pleasure  in  coming  back  after  a  tour  (which,  by  the 
way,  may  be  another  great  difference  between  these 
journeys  and  the  journey  of  life),  at  least  I  know  I 
am  always  glad  to  come  back  to  that  great,  silent, 
unexpectorating  people  to  whom  I  belong ;  upon 
whose  dominions  the  sun  never  sets,  who  are  very 
powerful  and  somewhat  dull,  free  as  far  as  consti- 
tutions and  forms  of  government  go,  but  as  slavish 


CO^fPANIONS    OF  MY  SOLITUDE.  195 

as  any  other  nation  to  the  great  tyrants,  custoni  and 
public  opinion :  a  people,  indeed,  who  do  not  enjoy 
any  exuberant  felicity,  but  who  have  humor  enough 
to  sec  their  faults  and  shortcomings,  which  is  some 
alleviation. 

But  to  descend  more  to  particulars  about  travel- 
ling. The  first  thing  is  in  the  preparation  for  it; 
the  mental  preparation,  I  mean.  In  this  preparation 
lies  some  of  the  greatest  utility  and  of  the  greatest 
pleasure  connected  with  travelling.  And  without 
this  preparation  what  a  small  thing  travel  would  be. 
What  is  it  to  see  some  tomb,  when  the  name  of  the 
inmate  is  merely  a  pompous  sound,  —  the  name  of 
an  unknown  king,  duke,  or  emperor,  —  compared 
with  what  it  is  to  see  the  tomb  of  one  whose  for- 
tunes you  have  studied,  who  is  a  fiivorite  with  you, 
who  represents  yourself  or  what  you  would  be, 
whose  very  name  makes  your  blood  stir.?  The 
same  thing,  of  course,  applies  in  travel,  to  knowl- 
edge of  the  arts,  sciences,  and  manufactures. 
Knowledge  is  the  best  excitement  and  the  truest 
reward  for  travel  —  at  once  the  means  and  the  end. 
A  dignified  and  intelligent  curiosity,  how  much  it 
diflcrs  f'om  mere  inane  lion-hunting;  where  the 
ignorant  traveller  gapes  at  wonders  which  the  guides 
know  far  more  about  than  he  does. 


196  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

With  regard  to  the  mode  of  travelHng,  it  is  curi- 
ous to  compare  the  ancient  with  the  modern ;  the 
free  yet  stately  way  of  the  former,  the  methodized 
yet  undignified  way  of  the  latter.  Imagine  a  travel- 
ler in  former  days  setting  off  from  the  ancestral 
mansion  leisurely,  on  horseback.  Within  ten  miles 
thei"e  might  be  an  adventure  ;  and  throughout  the 
journey,  which  had  not  been  much  cleared  up  by 
the  accounts  of  former  travellers,  there  must  have 
been  a  constant  feeling  of  doubt  as  to  what  was  to 
happen  next,  and  a  consequent  excitement  a  little 
like  the  feeling  of  a  great  discoverer  in  unknown 
lands  seeking  after  the  kingdom  of  Prester  John, 
the  El  Dorado,  or  the  fountain  of  perpetual  youth  ; 
and  not  being  certain  any  day  that  he  might  not 
come  upon  one  of  these  wonders. 

I  think  it  is  possible  to  combine,  occasionally,  the 
advantages  of  modern  and  ancient  travelling,  espe- 
cially for  the  vigorous  and  healthy. 

In  the  plans  and  modes  of  travelling,  the  question 
of  companionship  comes  first.  And,  by  the  way, 
what  a  hint  it  might  give  many  a  young  man  of  tlie 
difficulties  to  be  conquered  in  domestic  companion- 
ship, when  he  finds  how  hai'd  it  is  to  agree  with  his 
fellows  in  travel  for  a  few  short  weeks.  All  the 
difficulties  attendant  upon  companionship  occur  iv% 


CO.UPAXJOXS    OF  MY  SOLITUDE.  197 

this  case  of  travelling.  Indeed,  the  first  question 
is,  whether  you  should  journey  alone,  solitary  and 
unmolested  ;  or  with  one  other,  when  the  want  of 
profound  symjoathy  and  the  wish  to  quarrel  will  be 
very  painful ;  or  with  two  or  three,  when  the  quar- 
relling can  better  break  out  and  the  companions 
separate  into  factions.  The  advantages  and  disad- 
vantages are  so  nearly  equivalent  that  the  traveller 
■will  probably  condemn  and  regret  whichever  course 
he  takes,  and,  therefore,  may  take  any  one  without 
much  concern.  To  the  very  serious  reader  I  may 
mention  that  the  above  description  is  not  given 
quite  in  earnest,  but  it  points  to  what  are  some  of 
the  proiniiRMit  dangers  of  companionship.  Really 
it  is  disgraceful  that  men  are  so  ill-taught  and  unpre- 
pared for  social  life  as  they  are,  often  turning  their 
best  energies,  their  acquisitions,  and  their  special 
advantages  into  means  of  annoyance  to  those  with 
whom  they  live.  Some  day  it  will  be  found  out 
that  to  bring  up  a  man  with  a  genial  nature,  a  good 
temper,  and  a  happy  form  of  mind,  is  a  greater 
effort  than  to  perfect  him  in  much  knowledge  and 
many  accomplishments.  Then  we  might  have  that 
tolerance  of  other  people's  pursuits,  that  absence  of 
disputatiousness,  and  that  freedom  from  small  fussi- 
ness,  which  would  render  a  companion  a  certain 


198  COMPANIONS   OF  J/F  bOLITUDE. 

gain.     It  will  not  be  desirable,  however,  to  wait  till 
that  period  before  we  begin  our  travels. 

The  advantages  of  travel  are  very  various  and 
very  numerous.  I  have  already  put  the  knowledge 
to  be  gained  as  one  of  them.  But  this  is  for  the 
young  and  the  unworn.  A  far  greater  advantage  is 
in  the  repose  of  mind  which  travelling  often  gives, 
where  nothing  else  could.  It  seems  rather  hard 
though,  that  all  our  boasted  philosophy  cannot  do 
what  a  little  change  of  place  so  easily  effects.  It  is 
by  no  magical  property,  however,  that  travelling 
does  this.  It  is  merely  that  by  this  change  things 
assume  their  right  proportions.  The  nightmares 
of  care  and  trouble  cease  to  weigh  as  if  they  were 
the  only  things  of  weight  in  the  world. 

I  know  one  who  finds  somewhat  of  the  same  ad- 
vantage in  looking  at  the  stars.  He  says  it  suggests 
a  welcome  change  of  country.  Indeed,  he  main- 
tains that  the  aspect  of  these  glorious  worlds  might 
somewhat  comfort  a  man  even  under  remorse. 

Again  a  man's  own  land  is  a  serious  place  to  him, 
or  at  least  has  a  possible  seriousness  about  it,  which 
is  like  a  cloud  that  may  at  any  moment  come  over 
the  spot  he  is  occupying. 


COMPAXJOXS    OF  ^n^  SOLITUDIC.  199 

There  he  has  known  tlie  sweetness  and  the  l)it- 
terness  of  early  loves,  early  friendships.  There, 
mayhap,  he  has  snlTcred  one  of  those  vast  bereave- 
ments which  was  like  a  tearing  away  of  a  part  of 
his  own  soul ;  when  he  thought  each  noise  in  the 
house,  hearing  noises  that  he  never  heard  before, 
must  be  something  they  were  doing  in  the  room  — 
the  room  —  where  lay  all  that  was  mortal  of  some 
one  inexpressibly  dear  to  him ;  when  he  awoke 
morning  after  morning  to  struggle  with  a  grief  which 
seemed  as  new,  as  appalling,  and  as  large  as  on  the 
first  day ;  which,  indeed,  being  part  of  himself  and 
thus  partaking  of  his  renovated  powers,  rose  equipped 
with  what  rest,  or  alacrity,  sleep  had  given  him  ; 
and  sank,  unconqucred,  only  wlien  he  was  too 
wearied  in  body  and  mind  to  attend  to  it,  or  to  any 
thing. 

The  places  where  he  has  felt  such  sorrows  may 
be  the  dearest  in  the  world  to  him,  may  be  sure  to 
win  him  back  to  them  ;  but  they  cannot  always  be 
regarded  in  that  easy,  disengaged  way  which  is  ne- 
cessary for  perfect  recreation. 

This,  then,  is  one  of  the  advantages  of  travel, 
tliat  we  come  upon  new  ground,  which  we  tread 
lightly,  which  is  free  from  associations  that  claim 
too  deep  and  constant  an  interest  from  us;  and,  not 


200  COMPANIONS   OF  MT  SOLITUDE. 

resting  long  in  any  one  place,  but  travelling  on- 
wards, we  maintain  that  desirable  lightness  of 
mind  :  we  are  spectators,  having  for  the  time  no 
duties,  no  ties,  no  associations,  no  responsibilities ; 
nothing  to  do  but  to  look  on,  and  look  fairly. 

Another  of  the  great  advantages  of  travel  lies  in 
what  you  learn  from  your  companions :  not  merely 
from  those  you  set  out  with,  or  so  much  from  them, 
as  from  those  whom  you  are  thrown  together  with 
on  the  journey.  I  reckon  this  advantage  to  be  so 
great,  that  I  should  be  inclined  to  say,  that  you  often 
get  more  from  your  companions  in  travel  than  from 
all  you  come  to  see. 

People  imagine  they  are  not  known,  and  that  they 
shall  never  meet  again  with  the  same  company 
(which  is  very  likely  so)  ;  they  are  free  for  the  time 
from  the  trammels  of  their  l)usuiess,  profession,  or 
calling ;  the  marks  of  the  harness  begin  to  wear 
out ;  and  altogether  they  talk  more  like  men  than 
slaves  with  their  several  functions  hanging  like  col- 
lars round  their  necks.  An  ordinary  man  on  travel 
will  sometimes  talk  like  a  great  imaginative  man  at 
home,  for  such  arc  never  utterly  enslaved  by  their 
functions. 

Then  the  diversities  of  character  you  meet  with 
instruct  and  delight  you.     The  variety  in  language, 


co.uPANio.ys  OF  ^fr  solitude.         201 

dress,  behavior,  reli<;ious  ceremonies,  mode  of  life, 
amusement,  arts,  climate,  government,  lays  hold  of 
your  attention  and  takes  you  out  of  the  wheel-tracks 
of  your  cvery-day  cares.  He  must,  indeed,  be  either 
an  angel  of  constancy  and  perseverance,  or  a  won- 
derfully obtuse  Caliban  of  a  man,  who,  amidst  all 
this  change,  can  maintain  his  private  griefs  or  vex- 
ations exactly  in  the  same  place  they  held  in  his 
heart  while  he  was  packing  for  his  journey. 

The  change  of  language  is  alone  a  great  delight. 
You  pass  along,  living  only  with  gentlemen  and 
scholars,  for  you  rarely  detect  what  is  vulgar,  or 
inept,  in  the  talk  around  you.  Children's  talk  in 
another  language  is  not  childish  to  you  ;  and,  indeed, 
every  thing  is  literature,  from  the  announcement  at 
a  railway  station  to  the  advertisements  in  a  news- 
paper. Read  the  Bible  in  another  tongue ;  and  you 
will  perhaps  find  a  beauty  in  it  you  have  not  thor- 
oughly appreciated  for  years  before. 

As  regards  the  enjoyments  of  travel,  I  should  be 
sorry  to  say  any  thing  pedantic  about  them.  They 
must  vary  so  much  according  to  the  nature  of  the 
indiviilual.  In  my  view,  they  are  to  be  found  in  the 
chance  delights  rather  than  in  the  official  part  of 
travelling     I  go  through  a  picture-gallery,  enjoying 


202  COMPANIONS    OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

with  instructed  and  well-regulated  satisfixction  all 
the  things  I  ought  to  enjoy.  Down  in  the  recesses 
of  my  mind,  not  communicated  perhaps  to  any  of 
my  companions,  is  a  secret  hope  that  the  room  I  see 
in  the  distance  is  really  the  last  in  the  building,  and 
that  I  shall  have  to  go  through  no  more.  It  is  a 
warm  day,  and,  stepping  out  upon  a  balcony  for  a 
moment,  I  see  a  young  girl  carefully  helping  her  in- 
firm mother  out  of  church,  and  playfully  insisting  on 
carrying  the  market  burdens  of  both,  for  too  heavy 
for  her  little  self.  I  watch  the  pair  to  the  corner  of 
the  street,  and  then  turn  back  to  see  the  pictures 
which  must  be  seen.  But  the  pictures  will  fade 
from  my  memory  sooner  than  this  little  scene  which 
I  saw  from  the  balcony.  I  have  put  that  by  for  my 
private  gallery.  Doubtless,  we  need  not  leave  our 
own  country  to  see  much  that  is  most  beautiful  in 
nature  and  in  conduct ;  but  we  are  often  far  too 
much  engaged,  and  too  unobservant,  to  see  it. 

Then  there  is  the  new  climate.  How  exquisite 
the  mere  sensation  of  warmth  is  to  many  persons ! 
Then  tliere  is  the  stroll  in  the  market-place,  or  the 
sight  of  the  harbor,  or  the  procession,  or  the  guard- 
house—  in  short,  the  asj^ect  of  all  those  ordinary, 
but,  in  a  strange  country,  unfamiliar  things  which, 
happily,  no  hand-book  need  dilate  upon,  or  even 


COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE.  203 

point  out,  but  whicli  men  arc   perverse  enough   to 
like  all  the  better  lor  that. 

The  benefits  which  arise  from  making  the  inhab- 
itants of  dilVerent  nations  acquaintetl  with  one  an- 
other may  be  considerable.  Ilow  many  things  there 
arc  to  be  learnt  on  both  sides  ;  and  how  slow  men 
are  in  copying  the  good  from  each  other.  An  evil 
custom  or  a  dubious  one,  or  a  disease,  mental,  moral, 
or  physical,  how  rapidly  it  spreads  over  the  earth  ! 
Evil  is  winged.  How  slowly  any  contrivance  for 
cleanliness,  or  decorum,  or  good  order,  makes  its 
way.  If  it  were  not  that  good  bv  its  nature  is  en- 
during, and  evil  bv  its  nature  transitoi\',  there  \v()uld 
be  but  little  chance  for  the  welfare  of  tlic  world. 

In  contemplating  ditVerent  nations,  the  traveller 
learns  that  their  dilferenccs  are  very  great,  and  yet 
how  small  when  compared  witli  their  resemblances. 
Tliat  intensity  of  dislike  which  arises  at  these  small 
dilVercnces,  and  which  even  the  most  philosophical 
minds  are  apt  at  times  to  feel,  is  a  great  proof  of  the 
tvrannous  nature  of  the  luuuan  heart,  wliich  would 
have  every  other  creature  cut  out  exactly  after  its 
own  pattern. 

One  of  the  things  to  be  most  noted  bv  an  English- 
man in   travcHing,  is  the   remarkable  iliirereuce,  as 


204  COMPANIONS   Of  MY  SOLITUDE. 

it  seems  to  me,  between  our  own  :ind  other  nations 
in  the  amusements  of  the  people.  We  are  the  peo- 
ple who  have  sent  out  our  efforts  to  the  uttermost 
parts  of  the  earth,  and  yet  a  great  deal  of  our  own 
life  at  home  is  very  barren  and  uncultivated.  When 
I  have  been  watching  the  gamesomeness  of  other 
peeple,  it  has  often  saddened  me  to  think  of  the  pov- 
erty of  resources  in  my  own  country  in  that  way. 
Shows  alone  will  not  do.  Pictures  are  good  in  their 
way,  but  what  is  wanted  is  something  in  which  peo- 
ple themselves  are  engaged.  Indeed,  more  persons 
are  amused,  and  rightly  so,  in  playing  at  bowls  than 
in  looking  at  Raphaels,  Murillos,  or  Titians.  Those 
who  are  most  amused,  if  one  may  use  such  a  word, 
in  contemplating  these  great  works,  are  those  in 
whom  the  works  produce  a  secret  feeling  of  power 
to  create  the  like  —  I  do  not  say,  like  pictures  or  even 
like  works  of  art,  but  something  great,  if  only  great 
destruction  —  in  fact,  wher^  the  works  elicit  the  sym- 
pathy of  kindred  genius.  But  for  the  amusements 
of  the  people,  something  on  a  very  broad  and  gen- 
eral basis  must  be  sought  for. 

Returning,  however,  to  the  special  subject  of  trav- 
elling, which  I  am  now  considering,  it  is  worth  no- 
tice that  thei'e  is  no  occasion  for  being  excessively 
emulous,  or  haste-bitten,  in  travelling  any  more  than 


COMPAX/OX^    OF  .}fY  SOLITUDE. 


205 


in  other  occiipaLioiis  of  life.  Let  no  truly  ol)scrvant 
man  feci  the  least  envious,  or  disconcerted,  when  he 
hears  others  talk  familiarly  of  cities  which  are  dream- 
land to  him,  the  names  of  which  are  poetry  in  his 
mind.  Many  of  these  men  never  have  seen,  and 
never  can  see  any  thing,  as  he  can  see  it.  The  wise 
do  not  hurry  without  good  reason.  A  judicious  trav- 
eller tells  me  that  he  once  went  to  see  one  of  the 
greatest  wonders  of  the  world.  He  gazed  and  gazed, 
eacli  minute  saw  more,  and  might  have  gone  on  see- 
ing into  the  thing  for  weeks,  he  said.  Two  regular 
tourists  walked  in,  glanced  about  them,  and  almost 
before  he  could  look  round,  they  were  gone.  They 
will  sav,  they  saw  what  there  was  to  be  seen.  Poor 
fellows!  Other  men  might  have  instructed  them: 
nowlhey  will  have  their  own  misconceptions,  arising 
from  hasty  impressions,  to  contend  with. 

I  must  say,  though,  that  any  thing  is  better  than 
insincerity  in  tlie  way  of  admiration.  If  we  do  not 
care  about  what  we  sec,  let  us  not  pretend  to  do  so. 
We  do  not  come  out  to  tell  lies,  but  rather  to  get 
away  from  falsehood  of  all  kinds. 

There  is  also  an  observation  to  be  made  with  re- 
spect to  the  enjoyment  of  the  lieautics  of  natural 
scenery,  which  applies  not  only  to  travelling,  but  is 


2o6  COMPANIONS   OF  J/F  SOLITUDE. 

of  very  general  application  ;  namely,  that  we  should 
enjoy  and  make  much  of  that  which  comes  in  our 
way  on  every-day  occasions.  While  it  may  be  well 
worth  the  while  of  the  lover  of  nature  to  be  curious 
in  looking  after  rocks,  rivers,  mountains,  and  water- 
falls, yet  the  obvious,  every-day  beauties  of  natui'e  are 
not  to  be  disregarded.  Perhaps  the  short  hasty  gazes 
cast  up  any  day  in  the  midst  of  business  in  a  dense 
city  at  the  heavens,  or  at  a  bit  of  a  tree  seen  amid 
buildings,  —  gazes  which  partake  almost  more  of  a 
sigh  than  a  look,  have  in  them  more  of  intense  ap- 
preciation of  the  beauties  of  nature  than  all  that  has 
been  felt  by  an  equal  number  of  sight-seers,  enjoy- 
ing large  opportunity  of  seeing,  and  all  their  time 
to  themselves.  Like  a  prayer  offered  up  in  the 
midst  of  every-day  life,  these  short,  fond  gazes  at 
nature  have  something  inconceivably  soothing  and 
beautiful  in  them.  There  is  a  remark  by  an  exquisite 
observer  and  very  subtle,  often  very  profound,  think- 
er, which  indeed  suggested  the  above  thouglits,  though 
we  have  each  turned  the  tiling  a  different  way,  he 
looking  at  a  certain  unreality  in  nature,  and  I  con- 
sidering the  combination  of  the  upturned  look  to 
nature  with  the  ordinary,  earthly  life  of  man.  "But 
this  beauty  of  nature,"  he  says,  "  which  is  seen  and 
felt  as  beauty,  is  the  least  part.     The  shows  of  the 


COMPAXIOSa    OF   MY  SOLITUDE.  207 

day,  the  dewy  morning,  the  rainbow,  mountains, 
orchards  in  blossom,  stars,  moonlight,  shadows  in 
still  water,  and  the  like,  if  too  eagerly  hunted,  be- 
come shows  merely,  and  mock  us  with  their  unreal- 
ity. Go  out  of  the  house  to  see  the  moon,  and  'tis 
mere  tinsel,  it  will  not  please  as  when  its  light  shines 
upon  your  necessary  journey."  * 

There  is  this,  too,  to  be  said,  that  this  habitual 
appreciation  of  nature  on  evcry-day  occasions  may 
prevent  your  missing  the  very  highest  beauties  ;  for 
what  you  go  to  see  as  a  sight,  may  never  be  shown 
to  you  under  most  favorable  circumstances  ;  where- 
as a  much  inferior  scene  mav  be  combined  witli  such 
accidental  circumstances  of  beauty  as  in  reality  to  be 
the  finest  thing  you  will  ever  have  an  opportunity  of 
beholding.  We  must  not  be  altogether  captivated 
by  great  names:  the  sincere,  clear-sighted  man  is 
not;  and  has  his  reward  for  liis  indeijendence  of 
mind,  in  seeing  many  beauties  in  man  and  nature, 
which  escape  the  perception  of  those  who  see  by 
book  alone. 

Before  quitting  tlie  subject  of  travelling,  I  cannot 
help  making  a  remark  which  has  often  occurred  to 
me,  but  whicli,  however,  has  regard,  not  so  much  to 

*  Emerson.     Nature —  Chapter  on  Bcautv  of. 


2o8  COMPANIONS    OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

tlie  travellers,  as  to  those  they  travel  amongst.     It 
concerns  all  those  who  preside  over  coach-offices, 
diligence-offices,    post-offices,    and     custom-houses. 
What  a  fine  opportunity  such  people  have,  it  seems 
to  me,  to  manifest  a  Christian  temper.     It  is  tire- 
some to  you,  O  postmaster,  to  be  asked  all  manner 
of  questions,  of  w^hich  you  cannot  see  the  drift,  or 
which  you  think  you  have  answered  in  your  first  re- 
ply ;  but  the  poor  inquirer  is  far  from  home  ;  he  has 
but  a  dim  understanding  of  your  language,  still  dim- 
mer of  your  customs ;  his.  little  daughter  is  ill  at 
home,  perhaps  ;  he  wants  to  be  assured  by  hearing 
again  what  you  said,  even  if  he  thought  he  under- 
stood the  meaning  at  first :  and  you  should  be  good- 
natured  and  voluminous  in  your  replies.     Besides, 
you  must  bethink  yourself,  that  what  is  so  simple  to 
you  as  your  daily  transactions,  may  nevertheless  be 
somewhat  complicated,  and  hard  to  understand,  es- 
pecially to   a  foreign   mind.     You    might,  I   think, 
carry  in  your  mind  an  imaginary  affichc,  which  you 
should  see  before  you  on  the  wall  which  fronts  you 
as  you  address  your  applicants. 

ADVICE  TO  MEN  IN  SMALL  AUTHORITY. 

"  It  is  a  great  privilege  to   have   an  opportunity 
many  times  in  a  day,  in  the  course  of  your  business, 


COMJ'AyWXS    OF  MY  SOLITUDE.  209 

to  do  a  real  kindness  whicli  is  not  to  be  paid  for. 
GracioLisncss  of  demeanor  is  a  large  part  of  the  duly 
of  any  official  jDerson  who  comes  in  contact  with  the 
world.  Where  a  man's  business  is,  there  is  the 
ground  for  liis  religion  to  manifest  itself." 

And  we  travellers,  on  our  parts,  if  only  from  an 
anxiety  to  give  otlier  nations  a  good  opinion  of  ours, 
should  beware  of  showing  insolence,  or  imperti- 
nence, to  those  who  give  us  welcome.  The  relation 
of  host  and  guest  should  never  be  quite  effaced  from 
the  mind  of  either  party. 


CHAPTER    XIl. 

WANDERED  about  amongst  the  young  trees 
this  morning,  looking  at  their  different  shades 
of  green,  and  I  thought  if  they,  drinking  from  the 
same  soil  and  the  same  air,  and  standing  still  in  the 
same  spot,  showed  such  infinite  varieties,  what  might 
be  expected  from  men.  Then  I  thought  of  the  an- 
ecdote of  Charles  V.  in  retirement,  endeavoring  in 
vain  to  make  his  watches  keep  time  together,  and 
the  inference  he  drew  therefrom  of  the  difficulty  of 
making  men  think  alike  upon  religious  matters.  Ah, 
when  it  once  comes  to  thinking,  good-by  to  any  thing 
like  strict  agreement  amongst  men. 

But  always  amongst  my  thoughts  to-day  came  that 
of  the  death  of  Sir  Robert  Peel,  which  I  heard  of 
last  night.*  Sad  !  sad !  huch  a  sorry  death  for  so 
great  a  man  —  and,  as  we  men  should  say,  so  inop- 
portune. I  had  hoped,  as  I  have  no  doubt  many 
othei'S  who  take  an  interest  in  public  affairs  had  done, 
that  he  would  have  remained  as  a  great  power  aloof 
from  party,  a  weight  of  private  opinion,  if  we  may 
*  July,  1S50. 


CO^fPA.\/OXS    OF   MY  SOLITUDE.  211 

say  SO,  which  should  come  in  at  the  most  important 
times,  to  dechire  what  is  thought  by  tlie  impartial 
bystander  ;  who,  I  should  say  (varying  the  common 
proverb),  does  not  see  most  of  the  game,  but  sees 
tilings  which  the  players  do  not  see.  Then  I  thought 
of  his  ways,  which  had  often  amused  me,  and  which 
I  had  learned  to  like  ;  of  his  exquisite  adroitness  ;  of 
tlie  dignity  of  the  man  ;  of  the  humanity,  and  of  what 
always  struck  me  so  forcibly — of  his  amenability  to 
good  reasoning  from  whatever  quarter  it  came. 

Then  I  thought  of  what  I  am  often  meditating 
upon —  how  the  government  of  this  country  might 
be  improved. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  our  constitution  is  a  great 
thing,  the  result  of  long  struggle  and  labor  of  all 
kinds;  but  still  how  much  its  working  might  be 
amended  ;  and  it  is  to  that  amendment  that  the  at- 
tention of  thoughtful  men  ought  to  be  directed.  Let 
us  look  at  the  matter  frankly  on  all  sides. 

It  is  a  great  advantage  that  ailairs  are  long  con- 
sidered in  this  country.   , 

It  is  a  great  advantage  that  scarcely  any  shade  of 
opinion  is  without  a  hearing  in  the  great  assemblies 

of  this  country. 

It  is  a  great  advantage  that  a  number  of  persons 
are  exercised  in  public  business  ;  and  that  our  pros- 


212  COMPANIONS    OF  M7  SOLITUDE. 

perity  and  advancement  do  not  depend  on  one  man, 
or  even  a  few  men. 

It  is  a  great  advantage  that  grievances  ai'e  sure  to 
be  discussed. 

On  the  other  hand,  let  us  honestly  allow  that  it  is 
a  great  evil,  that  the  choice  of  men  to  fill  the  most 
important  offices  should  be  chiefly  limited  to  parlia- 
mentary men. 

It  is  a  great  evil  that  honors  and  places  should  be 
confined  to  them  and  theirs :  why  should  a  man  be 
made  a  peer  because  he  has  failed  in  an  election,  or 
a  baronet  because  his  vote  is  much  wanted.''  Such 
things  ai'e  too  bad,  and  must  be  put  a  stop  to. 

It  is  a  great  evil  that  no  good  measures  can  be 
carried  swiftly,  —  so  that  remedies  often  come  too 
late. 

What  an  improvement  it  would  be  if  peerages  for 
life  were  permitted.  It  would,  in  my  opinion,  sup- 
ply the  House  of  Lords  with  just  that  element  of 
popular  influence  which  is  wanted. 

And  so,  again,  of  official  seats  in  the  House  of 
Commons :  what  a  benefit  it  would  be  if  just  men 
could  be  put  there  occasionally,  whom  the  world 
would  be  glad  to  listen  to,  but  whom  a  constituency 
will  not  listen  to,  or  who  are  not  in  a  position  to  ask 
it  to  listen. 


COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE.  213 

We  must  have  many  improvements  in  govern- 
ment. Questions  are  looming  in  the  distance*  which 
will  require  the  ablest  minds  in  the  country.  If  we 
ever  become  more  sincere  as  individuals,  we  shall 
need  to  express  that  sincerity  in  political  action. 

It  seems  to  me  there  is  vast  room  for  improve- 
ment in  many  branches  of  government,  —  in  finance, 
in  colonization,  in  dealing  with  the  poor,  in  the 
proceedings  of  the  state  as  regards  religion.  For, 
whatever  some  of  us  may  think  or  wish,  religious 
questions  of  high  import  will  not  long  be  in  the 
background. 

At  present,  the  relations  between  people  in  powder 
and  the  general  intelligence  of  the  country  are  not 
such  as  they  might  be. 

I  know  the  difficulty  of  any  sound  reforms  in 
government ;  but  if  we  never  attempt  any,  they  are 
sure  at  some  time  to  be  attempted  by  tlie  clumsiest 
and  coarsest  mechanism. 

The  loss  of  Sir  Robert  Peel  is  great  indeed,  I 
again  exclaimed  to  myself,  as  I  thought  what  an 
official  reformer  he  might  have  been  ;  not  reckless 
to  change  or  blame,  inclined  to  give  ilue  considera- 
tion to  official  persons,  —  a  class  of  men  who  amply 
deserve  it,  —  and  carrying  out  reforms,  not  in  a 
spirit  of  condemnation,  but  of  desire  for  increased 


214  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

effectiveness  and  force.  What  a  loss  In  that  man  ! 
I  will  go  and  talk  to  Dunsford,  I  said,  from  whom 
one  is  always  sure  of  sympathy  and  kindness. 

Without  delay  I  began  to  turn  my  steps  towards 
his  parsonage,  making  my  way  along  the  lanes  with 
lofty  hedges,  enjoying  the  scent  of  the  sweet  haw- 
thorn, and  escaping,  as  far  as  might  be,  an  east 
wind,  which  with  a  warm  sun  made  a  most  unplea- 
sant combination  of  weather ;  the  east  wind,  like 
some  small  private  vexation,  rendering  the  rest  of 
one's  prosperity,  not  merely  unpalatable,  but  ill- 
timed. 

As  I  went  along,  I  thought  of  the  Church  of 
England,  and  of  what  might  be  its  future  fortunes. 
I  have  just  been  reading  th§  works  of  two  brothers  ; 
last  night  I  had  finished  an  elaborate  attack  from 
the  Roman  Catholic  side  upon  the  Anglican  Church 
by  one  brother  ;  and  this  morning  I  had  read  a  very 
skilful  attack  upon  all  present  religious  systems  by 
another  brother.  And  I  thought  to  myself,  the 
Church  of  England  suffers  from  both  attacks. 

One's  acquaintances  who  meet  one  in  the  streets 
shrug  their  shoulders,  and  exclaim,  "What  a  state 
the  Church  is  in !  Oh  that  these  questions  that 
divide  it  had  never  been  raised."  I  do  not  agree 
with  them,  and  sometimes  I  tell  them  so.     If  there 


COMPANIONS    OF  MY  SOLITVDK.  315 

are  these  great  ditrerenccs  amongst  thoughtful  men 
about  great  subjects,  why  should  they  (the  difler- 
ences)  be  stifled?  Are  we  always  to  be  walking 
about  as  masked  figures? 

No  doubt  it  is  a  sad  thing  that  works  of  charity 
and  mercy  should  be  ever  interrupted  by  indefniite 
disputes  upon  points  which,  when  once  taken  up, 
are  with  extreme  difficulty  settled  well,  or  laid  aside. 
But  then,  on  the  other  hand,  how  much  good  is  pre- 
vented by  the  continuance  of  insincerity,  by  an 
insincere  adherence  on  the  j^art  of  men  to  that  which 
they  believe  not.  Besides,  it  is  not  as  if  all  went 
on  smoothly  now :  how  much,  for  instance,  the 
cause  of  education  sufl'ers  from  the  existence  of 
religious  diHerences. 

Moreover,  who  can  tell  the  general  mischief  pro- 
duced in  all  human  affairs  by  degrading  views  of 
religion,  which  more  thought  might  enlarge  or  dis- 
pel. Men's  laws  and  customs  are  merely  their 
religion  applied  to  life.  And,  again,  what  a  pity  it 
would  be  if  controversy  were  abandoned  to  the 
weak  or  the  controversial  only  :  so  that,  even  for 
the  sake  of  peace,  it  may  be  good  for  a  man  not  to 
suppress  his  thoughts  upon  religious  subjects,  if  he 
has  any. 

For  my  own   part,   it   has  long   appeared  to  me 


2l6  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

that  our  Church  stands  upon  foundations  which 
need  more  breadth  and  solidity,  both  as  regards  the 
hold  it  ought  to  have  on  the  reason,  and  on  the 
affection  of  its  members. 

As  to  the  hold  upon  the  reason :  suppose  we 
were  taught  to  study  scientifically,  up  to  a  certain 
point,  something  that  admitted  of  all  the  lights  of 
study ;  and  were  then  called  upon  to  take  the  rest 
for  granted,  not  being  allowed  to  use  to  the  utter- 
most the  lights  of  history  and  criticism  which  have 
been  admitted  at  first:  how  very  inconclusive  the 
so-called  conclusions  would  appear  to  us.  It  would 
be  like  placing  a  young  forest  tree  in  a  hothouse 
and  saying,  "  Grow  so  far,  if  you  like,  expand  to 
the  uttermost  in  this  space  allowed  to  you,  but  there 
is  no  more  room  after  you  have  attained  these  lim- 
its ;  thenceforward  grow  inwards,  or  downwards, 
or  wither  away."  Our  Church  is  too  impersonal, 
if  I  may  use  that  expression  :  it  belongs  too  much 
to  books,  set  creeds  and  articles,  and  not  enough  to 
living  men  ;  it  does  not  admit  easily  of  those  modi- 
fications which  life  requires,  and  which  guard  life 
by  adapting  it  to  what  it  has  to  bear. 

Again,  as  regards  afiection,  how  can  any  but 
those  who  are  naturally  devout  and  affectionate, 
which  is  not  the  largest  class,  have  an  affectionate 


COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE.  ii'j 

regard  for  any  thiii<^  which  presents  so  cold  and 
formal  an  appearance  as  the  Church  of  England. 
The  services  are  too  long ;  and,  for  the  most  part, 
are  surrounded  by  the  most  prosaic  circumstances. 
Too  many  sermons  are  preached  ;  and  yet,  after  all, 
too  little  is  made  of  preaching.  The  preachers  are 
apt  to  confine  themselves  to  certain  topics,  which, 
however  really  great  and  solemn,  are  exhaustible : 
at  least  as  far  as  men  can  tell  us  aught  about  them. 
Order,  decency,  cleanliness,  propriety,  and  very 
often  good  sense,  are  to  be  seen  in  full  force  in  An- 
glican Churches  once  a  week  ;  but  tliere  is  a  defi- 
ciency of  heartiness. 

The  perfection  to  be  aimed  at,  as  it  seems  to  me, 
as  I  have  said  before,  would  be  a  Church  with  a 
very  simple  creed,  a  very  grand  ritual,  and  a  useful 
and  devoted  priesthood.  But  these  combinations 
are  only  in  Utopias,  Blessed  Islands,  and  other  fab- 
ulous places  ;  no  vessel  enters  their  ports,  for  they 
are  as  yet  only  in  the  minds  of  thoughtful  men. 

In  forming  such  an  imaginary  Church,  there  cer- 
tainly are  some  things  that  might  be  adopted  from 
the  Roman  Catholics.  The  other  day  I  was  at 
Rouen  ;  I  went  to  see  the  grand  old  Cathedral ;  tlic 
great  weslorn  doors  were  thrown  wide  open  right 


2l8  COMPANIONS    OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

upon  the  market-place  filled  with  flowers,  and,  in 
the  centre  aisle,  not  before  any  image,  a  poor  wo- 
man and  her  child  were  praying.  I  was  only  there 
a  few  minutes,  and  these  two  figures  remain  im- 
pressed upon  my  mind.  It  is  surely  very  good  that 
the  poor  should  have  some  place  free  from  the  re- 
straints, the  interruptions,  the  fixmiliarity,  and  the 
squalidness  of  home,  where  they  may  think  a  great 
thought,  utter  a  lonely  sigh,  a  fervent  prayer,  an 
inward  wail.    And  the  rich  need  the  same  thing  too. 

Protestantism,  when  it  shuts  up  its  churches,  or 
allows  discreditable  twopences  to  be  paid  at  the 
door,  cannot  be  said  to  show  well  in  these  matters. 
In  becoming  so  nice  and  neat,  it  seems  to  have 
brushed  away  a  great  deal  of  meaning  and  useful- 
ness with  the  dirt  and  irregularity. 

The  great  difficulty  in  reforming  any  Church  lies, 
of  coui'se,  in  the  ignorance  of  its  members.  More- 
over, there  may  be  great  indiflerence  to  any  Church, 
or  dissatisfaction  with  it,  amongst  its  members  ;  but 
then  people  say  to  themselves,  if  we  touch  this  or 
that  thing  which  we  disapprove  of,  we  do  not  know 
what  harm  we  may  not  be  doing  to  people  of  less 
insight  or  less  caution  than  ourselves ;  and  so  they 
go  on,  content  with  a  very  rude  attempt  indeed  at 
coi:uTiunion  in  spiritual  matters,  provided  they  do 


COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE.  219 

not,  as  they  would  say,  unsettle  their  neighbors. 
There  is  something  good  and  humble  in  this  ;  there 
is  something  also  of  indiflerence  :  if  our  ancestors 
had  always  been  content  with  silent  protests  against 
the  tilings  they  disapproved  of,  we  might  have  been 
in  a  worse  position  than  we  are  now. 

To  lay  down  any  guidance  for  action  in  tliis  mat- 
ter is  very  dillicult  indeed.  According  to  the  usual 
course  of  human  aflliirs,  some  crisis  will  probably 
occur,  which  nobody  foresees,  and  then  men  will  be 
obliged  to  speak  and  act  boldly.  It  behooves  them 
to  bethink  themselves,  from  time  to  time,  of  whither 
they  are  tending  in  these  all-important  matters. 

The  intellectual  energies  of  cultivated  men  want 
directing  to  the  great  questions.  If  there  is  doubt 
in  any  matter,  shall  we  not  examine.''  Instead  of 
that,  men  shut  their  thoughts  up,  and  pretend  to  be 
orthodox  —  play  at  being  orthodox.  Meanwhile, 
\\  hat  an  evil  it  mubt  be  to  the  Church,  if  through 
unnecessary  articles  of  faith,  some  of  the  best  men 
are  prevented  from  becoming  clergymen,  and  many 
of  the  laity  rendered  less  hearty  members  than  they 
otherwise  would  be,  of  the  Church. 

Dwelling  upon  such  thoughts,  which  are  full  of 
pain  and  anxiety  —  the  thoughts  of  one  who  is  al- 
ways desirous  to  make  the  best  of  any  thing  that  is 


230  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

before  him,  and  who  is  well  aware  how  hard  it  is  to 
reform  anything  from  without — I  reached  Duns- 
ford's  quiet  little  parsonage. 

I  found  my  old  friend  sitting  in  his  garden  in  the 
very  spot  where  I  expected  to  find  him,  and  for 
which  I  made  my  way  without  going  through  the 
house.  In  the  middle  of  his  kitchen-garden  he  has 
placed  his  beehives,  and  has  surrounded  them  by  a 
semicircle  of  juniper-trees  about  five  feet  high.  In 
front  of  the  beehives  is  a  garden-seat  upon  wliich  I 
found  him  sitting  and  reciting  Latin  poetry  to  him- 
self, which  I  had  no  difficulty  in  discerning,  though 
I  could  not  hear  the  words,  to  be  from  his  favorite 
author,  Virgil.  Ellesmere,  who  views  every  thing 
in  a  droll  sarcastic  way,  says  that  our  friend  has 
chosen  this  particular  seat  in  his  garden  from  its 
being  likely  to  be  the  place  least  disturbed  by  his 
sister  and  his  curate.  Though  very  good  people 
they  are  somewhat  fussy,  and  given  to  needless 
gesticulation,  which  the  bees  dislike,  and  occasion- 
ally express  their  dislike  in  a  very  tangible  manner. 
This  spot,  therefore,  which  is  guarded  by  thousamls 
of  little  soldiers,  well-armed  and  well-equipped, 
distinguished  from  their  human  prototypes  by  gain- 
ing supplies  and  not  by  wasting  them,  affords  a  very 
secure  reti'eat   for   our   friend,   where  he  can  talk 


CO.^fPAMONS    OF  MY  SOLITUDE.  221 

Virgil  to  himself  for  half-aii-hour  on  a  sunny 
morning. 

It  was  not  altogether  without  trepidation  that  I 
took  my  seat  by  his  side  amidst  innumerable  buzz- 
ings  and  whizzings ;  but  he  assured  me  with  a 
smile  that  the  bees  would  not  hurt  me,  and  in  a 
minute  or  two  their  presence  was  only  like  a  mur- 
mur of  the  distant  wind  through  the  trees. 

I  began  at  once  to  narrate  to  Dunsford  the  melan- 
choly circumstances  of  Sir  Robert  Peel's  death, 
which  he  had  not  heard  of  before,  and  which 
affected  him  deeply.  Naturally  his  emotion  in- 
creased my  own.  After  I  had  told  him  the  sad 
story,  and  answered  his  various  questions  about  it, 
we  remained  silent  for  a  time.  I  looked  at  the  bees, 
and  thought  of  Manchester  and  other  of  the  great 
hives  and  marts  of  industry :  Dunsford  went  on 
with  his  Virgil :  at  last  we  thus  resumed  our  dia- 
logue. 

Dunsford.  I  do  not  wonder,  my  dear  Leonard, 
that  you  were  much  aHccted  by  Sir  Robert's  death.- 
I  always  felt  how  much  you  ought  to  sympathize 
with  him.  Indeed  there  are  two  or  three  minor 
points  in  which  you  often  put  me  a  little  in  mind 
of  him. 

Milverion.     It  is  strange  I  never  heard  you  say  so. 


222  COMPANIONS    OF  MT  SOLITUDE. 

Dunsford.  I  did  not  think  you  much  admired 
him,  or  would  feel  pleased  at  being  likened  to  him 
in  any  thing.  But  this  is  what  I  mean,  —  it  always 
appeared  to  me,  that  he  had  the  most  peculiar  ap- 
preciation of  the  irrationality,  and  difficult  to  man- 
age, of  mankind.  This  was  one  of  the  things 
which  made  him  so  cautious.  He  never  threw  out 
his  views  or  opinions  till  the  moment  when  they 
were  to  be  expressed  in  action.  He  did  not  want 
to  provoke  needless  opposition.  In  short  it  was 
clear  that  he  had  the  keenest  apprehension  of  the 
folly  of  the  world :  he  was  very  obstinate  withal, 
or,  as  I  had  better  say,  resolved  ;  and  very  sensitive. 
He  did  nothing  under  the  hope  that  it  would  pass 
easily,  and  cost  him  nothing  to  do  ;  and  yet,  at  the 
same  time,  though  he  foresaw  distinctly  oj^position 
and  unreason  and  calumny,  he  felt  them  more  per- 
haps than  quite  beseemed  so  wise  and  resolute  a 
man  when  they  did  come.  You  best  know  whether 
I  am  right  in  attributing  some  of  the  same  strength 
and  some  of  the  same  weakness  to  the  man  who 
sits  beside  me. 

Milvcrton.  I  neither  admit  nor  deny  :  but  sure- 
ly, Dunsford,  it  is  not  unwise  nor  imprudent  to 
expect  to  have  every  degree  of  irrationality  to  battle 
with  in  any  thing  one  may  undertake ;  and  time  is 


COMPANIONS    OF  MY  SOLirUDF..  223 

seldom  lost  in  preparing  to  meet  that  irrationality  ; 
or  strength,  in  keeping  one's  projects  long  before 
one.  This  is  not  merely  worldly  wisdom :  such 
conduct  results  from  a  deep  care  for  the  success  of 
the  project  itself. 

Dunsford.  Mucli  of  it  is  the  result  of  tempera- 
ment;  and  temperament  is  a  part  of  our  nature 
sooner  developed  than  almost  any  other.  How  soon 
you  see  it  in  children,  and  how  decisively  marked. 

Milvcrtoti.  I  cannot  help  thinking  what  a 
shrewd  man  you  are,  Dunsford,  when  you  choose 
to  be  so.  It  is  you  who  ought  to  conduct  great  law- 
cases,  and  write  essays,  instead  of  leaving  such 
things  to  EUesmcre  and  myself,  and  pretending  that 
you  are  the  simple,  unworldly,  retired  man,  content 
to  receive  your  impressions  of  men  and  things  from 
your  pupils.  I  suppose  that  watching  these  bees, 
gives  you  a  great  insight  into  the  management  of 
states  and  the  conduct  of  individuals.  You  recite 
Virgil  to  them,  and  they  buzz  into  your  ears  bee- 
wisdom  of  tlie  most  refined  kind. 

Du/isford.  Talking  of  essays,  may  I  ask,  Mr. 
Milverton,  what  you  are  about?  You  have  not  been 
near  me  for  some  time,  and  I  always  construe  your 
absence  into  some  new  work. 

Milverton.     You  arc  right  in  this  case  ;  but  I 


224  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

mostly  avoid  talking  about  what  I  am  doing,  at 
least,  till  it  is  in  some  state  of  forwardness.  Talking 
prevents  doing.  Silence  is  the  great  fellow- workman. 

Diuisford.     The  bees? 

AIilverto7t.  They  buzz  when  they  come  home  : 
they  are  silent  enough  at  their  work.  Moreover,  I 
am  beginning  to  care  less  and  less  about  criticism 
during  the  progress  of  work,  fearing  less,  you  see, 
Dunsford,  the  irrationality  of  the  world ;  for  what 
you  mainly  aim  to  get  at  by  listening  to  criticism  is 
not  so  much  what  will  be  understood,  as  what  will 
be  misunderstood,  —  and  that  misunderstanding 
arises  sometimes  from  your  own  eiTor  in  thought, 
sometimes  from  bungling  workmanship,  sometimes 
from  the  Irrationality  of  mankind  ;  or  from  some 
unfortunate  combination  of  these  various  sources  of 
eiTor.  My  growing  Indift'erence  to  criticism,  In  fact 
the  reason  why  my  steps  have  not  been  bent  so 
often  lately  In  the  direction  of  the  Rectory,  I  would 
have  you  to  believe,  results,  not  from  any  Increasing 
confidence  in  my  own  workmanship,  but  from  my 
growing  faith  in  the  general  rationalitv  and  kindli- 
ness of  mankind. 

Dunsford.     Humph ! 

Milvcriofz.  Besides,  my  endeavors  and  aspira- 
tions are  so  humble  — 


co.}frANiONs  OF  ^fr  solitude.         225 

Duiisford.     Iliiinph  ! 

Milverton.  You  will  agree  with  me  when  you 
sec  what  I  mean.  They  are  so  humble  that  they  do 
not  require  all  that  adverse  criticism  and  consequent 
mouldinj^  which  more  elaborate  schemes  might  do. 
For  instance,  I  believe  in  the  indcfniitc  improva- 
bility  of  ourselves  and  of  every  thing  around  us.  Do 
not  be  frightened,  and  look  up  so  strangely,  Dunsford  : 
I  do  not  mean  perfectibility.  Now,  if  by  way  of  carry- 
ing out  this  belief  of  mine,  I  had  any  scheme  of  social 
regeneration,  in  which  every  thing  and  everybody  was 
to  be  put  in  his  or  its  right  place,  of  course  it  would' 
have  been  necessary  for  me  to  have  come  very  often 
over  to  the  Rectory,  to  drink  in  sound  wisdom  in  the 
way  of  all  kinds  of  comment,  objection,  and  elabora- 
tion, from  you  and  Lucy, -and  these  wise  bees. 

Dunsford.  I  declare,  Milverton,  when  Ellesmere 
is  not  with  us,  you  play  both  his  part  and  your  own  : 
but  go  on. 

jMilvcrton.  No  —  but,  seriously,  my  dear  Duns- 
ford, to  go  on  with  my  schemes  of  improvability,  I 
assure  you  they  are  on  a  very  liumble  basis.  Look- 
ing around  I  see  what  slight  things  are  often  the  real 
hindrances  to  the  best  endeavors  of  men,  I  would 
aim  to  take  tliese  hindrances  out  of  a  man's  path. 
Mark  you,  I  do  not  expect  that  he  will  therefore 
15 


226  COMPANIONS    OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

become  a  greater  man,  but  he  will  certainly  be  able 
to  act  more  like  one.  To  descend  to  particulars, 
why  I  delight  so  much  in  sanatory  reform  is  not 
so  much  in  the  thing  itself,  if  I  may  say  so,  as  in 
the  additional  power  and  freedom  it  gives  to  man- 
kind. I  do  not  know  what  social  arrangements 
will  be  good  for  the  coming  generation,  what 
churches  will  be  best  for  them,  what  forms  of  legis- 
lation ;  but  I  am  sure  that  in  whatever  they  do, 
they  will  be  entangled  with  fewer  difficulties,  and 
will  act  more  healthfully  and  wisely,  if  they  are 
healthy  men  themselves. 

Dunsford.     Good  doctrine,  I  think. 

AIilverto7t.  In  the  same  way  I  would  seek  to 
remove  all  manner  of  social  disabilities ;  always 
again  with  a  view  to  the  future,  that  the  removal  of 
these  disabilities  may  give  room  for  more  freedom 
of  thought  and  action. 

Dunsford.  I  do  not  quite  understand  this,  but 
do  not  wait  to  explain  :  go  on. 

Milverton.  It  is  for  the  same  reasons  tliat  I  de- 
light in  education  (and  you  know  that  I  do  not  mean 
a  small  thing  by  education)  because  of  its  enabling 
powers,  to  use  a  legislative  phrase.  Here  again  I 
do  not  pretend  to  see  what  will  become  of  people 
when  educated,  or  to  suggest  the  forms  that  such 


COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE.  227 

discipline  will  ulliiiKitcly  fit  thcin  for;  but  I  caniKjt 
but  believe  that  it  will  make  any  people  into  mate- 
rial more  malleable  in  the  hands  of  the  wise  and 
good  —  of  those  who  should  be,  and  who,  to  a  cer- 
tain extent  are,  the  leaders  of  each  generation.  In- 
deed, 1  believe,  that  always  as  men  become  greater, 
they  are  more  easy  to  deal  with. 

Dunsford.     I  begin  to  see  what  you  would  be  at. 

Milvcrto)i.  I  conceive  that  as  civilization  ad- 
vances, a  thousand  little  complexities  arise  with  it. 
To  untie  tliem  in  any  w^ay  may  be  a  humble  etVort, 
but  seems  to  me  a  most  needful  one.  What  we  are 
ever  wanting  is  to  give  freedom  without  license  :  to 
free  a  man  from  mean  conformity  — 

Dunsford.  By  making  him  conform  to  some- 
thing higher.  I  think,  Milverton,  I  have  assisted  in 
pointing  this  out  to  you  when  I  was  afraid  that  you 
were  making  too  much  war  upon  conformity. 

Milverton.  It  is  only  one  of  many  things,  my 
dear  friend,  which  I  have  learned  from  you. 

Dunsford.  Thank  you,  my  dear  Leonard.  I 
must  say  you  have  always  been  most  willing  to  give 
more  than  due  lieetl  to  any  thintr  vour  oUl  tutor  has 
said,  with  the  exception  of  the  advice  he  used  to 
tender  to  you  at  College  about  getting  up  certain 
problems  in  the  Dillerential  and  Integral  Calculus. 


228  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

Milverton.  And  I  wish  I  had  listened  to  that 
advice  also. 

Dutisford.  But  are  you  not  a  little  afraid,  my 
friend  (not  that  I  would  say  one  word  against  any 
good  purpose  you  may  have),  that  with  all  your 
imaginary  cultivation  and  enabling  men  to  act  more 
freely  and  wisely  by  the  removal  of  small  disabilities, 
which  yet  I  admit  may  be  great  hindrances  :  are  you 
not  afraid,  that  after  all  we  shall  advance  into  some- 
thing very  tiresome,  somewhat  of  a  dead  level,  which 
obsei'vers  even  now  say  is  very  visible  in  the  world  — 
no  great  man,  but  a  number  of  decent,  ordinary, 
cultivated,  common-place  persons?  I  believe  I  am 
now  talking  Ellesmere  to  you  ;  for,  in  reality,  I  pre- 
fer the  advancement  of  the  great  mass  of  mankind 
to  any  pre-eminence  of  a  few  :  but  still  I  should  like 
to  hear  what  you  have  to  say  to  this  objection. 

Milverton.  I  am  delighted  that  you  have  raised  it. 
I  suspect  there  is  a  great  delusion  in  this  matter. 
The  notion  that  there  is  a  dead  level  in  modern  times 
is  a  mistake  :  //  is  oiily  that  there  arc  more  emi- 
nences. Formcrlv,  one  class  or  kind  of  men  made  a 
noise  in  the  world,  or  at  least  made  the  chief  noise  ; 
and,  looking  across  the  hazy  distances  of  time,  we 
are  deluded  by  great  names.  An  Alexander,  a  Ti- 
mour   the   Tartar,  an  Attila,  a  Charlemagne,  loom 


COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE.  229 

large  in  the  distance.  There  were  not  so  many  ways 
to  pre-eminence  then  —  added  to  which,  I  should  be 
very  slow  to  connect  greatness  of  thought,  or  great- 
ness of  nature,  with  resounding  deeds. 

Dunsford.  Surely,  at  the  latter  end  of  the  fif- 
teenth, and  in  the  sixteenth  century,  there  were  un- 
rivalled great  men  —  a  galaxy  of  them. 

j\Iilvcrton.  Yes,  I  admit ;  and  no  man  looks  up 
to  some  of  the  personages  of  that  era  with  more 
reverence  and  regard  than  I  do :  and,  moreover, 
I  would  not  contend  that  there  may  not  be  an  oc- 
casional galaxy,  as  you  have  termed  it,  of  such 
iiKu.  But  all  I  have  to  contend  against  is,  that  the 
tendency  of  modern  cultivation  is  not  necessary  to 
bring  men  to  a  dead  level,  and  to  subdue  all  real 
greatness. 

Dunsford.  But  you  must  admit  that  there  is  a 
certain  smallncss  in  the  men  of  our  time,  and  a  fool- 
ish hurry  in  their  proceedings. 

Milverton.  No  :  that  is  not  exactly  what  we  have 
reason  to  complain  of,  but  rather  a  certain  coldness, 
an  undue  care  for  respectability,  and  too  much  desire 
to  be  safe.  One  of  our  most  observant  men,  who  has 
seen  a  great  deal  of  the  world,  and  always  desired  to 
understand  the  generation  under  him  as  well  as  that 
which  came  before  him,  says,  that  the  young  men  of 


230  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

the  present  day  are  better  than  the  young  men  of  his 
time  ;  but  there  is  one  thing  that  he  complains  of  in 
them,  and  that  is,  their  fear  of  ridicule.  To  a  certain 
extent  he  is  right,  I  think  ;  only  I  should  modify  his 
remark  a  little,  and  say,  that  it  is  not  exactly  that 
they  fear  ridicule,  as  they  dislike  to  put  themselves 
in  such  a  position  that  they  may  justly  be  made  ri- 
diculous. It  is  partly  caution,  partly  fostidiousness, 
partly  a  fear  of  ridicule. 

Dimsford.  Well,  then,  I  think  that  each  man  is 
more  isolated  than  he  used  to  be.  There  is  less  of 
clanship,  less  of  the  rallying  round  men  of  force  or 
genius.  How  very  rare  a  thing  it  is  for  one  man  to 
devote  himself  to  the  purposes  framed  by  another's 
mind,  or  to  give  evidence  of  something  like  devotion 
to  his  person.  Yet  this  would  often  be  the  \>'isest 
and  the  noblest  form  of  exertion. 

Milverton.  But  then  there  would  be  no  original- 
ity, as  they  think,  and  there  is  now  a  diseased  desire 
for  originality,  which  is  never  to  be  got  by  the  men 
who  seek  it.  All  the  while  the  most  original  thing 
would  be  to  be  humble  and  suljservicnt  to  great  pur- 
poses, from  whomsoever  adopted. 

At  the  same  time,  I  must  say  that,  as  far  as  I  have 
observed,  the  young  would  be  very  devoted  to  for- 
ward the   purposes  of  their   ciders  and   superiors, 


COyfP ANIONS    OF  ^fY  SOLITUDE.  231 

whether  in  parliament,  in  oniccs,  or  in  any  other 
functions  of  civil  life  :  and  I  think  that  in  our  times, 
great  fiiult  has  often  been  on  the  side  of  the  elders  in 
not  making  just  use  of  the  young  talent  lying  every- 
where about  them. 

Ditnsford.     That  may  be. 

JMilverloti.  Indeed,  Dunsford,  it  is  not  every  one 
■who,  like  yourself,  is  anxious  to  elicit  the  powers, 
and  to  carry  forward  tlic  purposes,  of  youni^cr  men. 
It  requires  a  great  deal  of  kind-hearted  imagination 
to  do  that. 

JDimsford.  You  make  too  much  of  this,  IMilver- 
ton.  It  is  natural  that  I  sliould  care  about  my  own. 
pupils  more  than  any  thing  else.  I  live  in  their 
doings. 

Alilvcrton.  And  in  your  new  edition,  that  is  to 
be,  of  the  Second  part  of  Algebra,  as  Ellesmere 
would  say,  if  he  were  here  :  but  to  return  to  our  sub- 
ject, I  will  tell  you,  at  least  I  will  try  and  tell  you, 
in  a  somewhat  fanciful  way,  what  I  think  of  the 
whole  matter. 

Have  you  ever  known  well  a  beautiful  bit  of  nat- 
ural scenery,  before  man  has  come  to  settle  in  it  —  a 
cliff  near  the  sea,  a  mead  near  a  lake,  or  the  outskirts 
of  a  noble  forest?  If  so,  you  recollect  the  delicately 
rounded,  gracefully  indented,  or  grotesquely  out-jut- 


233     -         COMPANIONS    OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

ting  forms,  which  the  rock,  or  the  hill,  or  the 
margin  of  the  waters,  or  the  outskirts  of  the  wood 
had  taken  —  forms  dear  to  the  painter  and  the  poet. 
(Here  Lucy  entered  the  enclosure  where  we  were 
sitting.) 

L?icy.  The  painter  and  the  poet  —  I  am  sure  this 
is  something  which  I  may  listen  to,  Mr.  Milverton ; 
may  I  not? 

Milverton.  There  are  few  persons,  Lucy,  who 
have  more  feeling  for  the  works  of  painters  and 
poets  ;  and  so  you  have  a  right  to  hear  any  thing 
that  is  to  be  said  about  them.  (I  then  repeated  to 
her  the  former  part  of  the  sentence.)  You  then,  per- 
haps, after  an  interval  of  many  years,  pass  by  the 
same  place.  A  number  of  square  white  houses,  poor 
in  form  and  questionable  in  design,  deface  the  beau- 
tiful spot.  The  delicate  impressions  of  nature  are 
gone,  and,  in  their  stead,  are  the  angular  marks  of 
men's  handiwork.  The  painter  hurries  by  the  place  ; 
the  poet,  too,  unless  he  is  a  very  philosophic  one, 
passes  shuddering  by.  But,  in  reality,  what  forms 
of  beauty,  in  conduct,  in  suffering,  in  endeavor  ;  what 
tragedies,  what  romances ;  what  footprints,  as  it 
were,  angelic  and  demoniac  —  now  belong  to  that 
spot.  It  is  true,  we  have  lost  wonderful  lichens  and 
those  exquisitely  colored  mosses  on  the  rocks  which 


co.uPAyioys  of  mv  solitude.         233 

were  the  dcli^'lit  of  the  artist.  Perhaps  there  are  now 
unj^ahily  initials  in  their  phice,  illustrative,  however, 
of  a  deeper  poetry  than  ever  was  there  before.  But 
I  grow  too  fanciful,  and  must  descend  to  prosaic  ex- 
planations. I  mean,  m  short,  that  though  there  is 
more  cultivation  (which,  it  must  he  confessed,  efTaces 
somewhat  of  the  natural  rugged  beauty  of  the  scene), 
there  is  also  more  of  a  higher  beauty  which  sits  be- 
side the  other  (plain  prosaic  cultivation)  always, 
though  oft  unkenncd  by  mortal  eyes.  So,  in  the  ad- 
vancement of  mankind,  the  great  barbaric  outlines 
are  broken  into,  and  defaced  ;  but  a  thousand  new 
beauties,  new  delicacies,  even  new  greatnesses,  take 
their  place.  Nature  is  ever  affluent  in  such  things; 
and  this  effect  of  cultivation  is  to  be  seen,  not  only 
in  mankind,  but  in  individual  men.  For  instance, 
Dunsford,  the  very  shvness  and  coldness  of  modern 
youth  arises  in  some  measure  from  the  growth  of 
tact  and  delicacy.  But  I  need  not  explain  furtlier  ; 
you  see  what  I  mean. 

Dunsford.  I  think  I  do  ;  and  as  it  is  a  charit- 
able view,  I  wish  t(^  think  it  a  true  one.  But  I  could 
object  to  vour  metaphor,  if  I  chose  to  do  so. 

Lucy.  And  is  it  equally  true,  Mr.  Milverton, 
with  the  young  ladies  as  witli  the  young  gentlemen  } 

Milvcrtoit.     Why,  my  dear  Lucy,  the  young  la- 


234  COMPANIONS   OF  MT  SOLITUDE. 

dies  are  always  of  course  more  in  harmony  with 
nature.  Though  women  are  more  slavish  to  small 
conventionalities  than  men,  the  real  advance  of  civ- 
ilization tells  much  less  upon  women  than  upon 
men.  One,  who  knew  them  well,  says  that  "The 
ideas  of  justice,  of  virtue,  of  vice,  of  goodness,  of 
wickedness,  float  only  on  the  surface  of  their  souls 
(consequently  the  prevailing  ideas  amongst  men  on 
these  subjects  make  comparatively  little  impression 
upon  women),  in  the  depths  of  which  (their  souls) 
they  have  '  I'amour  propre  et  I'interet  personnel '  (I 
quote  his  very  words)  with  all  the  energy  of  na- 
ture ;  and,  more  civilized  than  ourselves  from  with- 
out, they  have  remained  true  savages  within :  (plus 
civilisees  que  nous  en  dehors,  elles  sont  restees  de 
vraies  sauvages  en  dedans)." 

Lucy.  The  man  is  a  savage  himself:  he  must  be 
a  French  Mr.  Ellesmere. 

Alllverton.  They  are  daring  words,  certainly ; 
but  perhaps  they  have  a  scintilla  of  truth  in  them. 
However,  I  will  come  again  some  day,  and  endea- 
vor to  elucidate  these  things  a  little  further.  Now 
I  see  the  bees  are  flocking  homewards  with  well- 
laden  thighs,  and  I,  too,  must  go  back  to  my  hive, 
well  laden  with  the  wisdom  to  be  gained  from  the 
thoughtful  trees  and  beautiful  flowers  of  the  Rectory. 


COMPANIONS   OF  .^fY  SOLITUDE.  235 

Dunsford. 

"Et  fessrc  multfl  referunt  se  nocte  minores, 
Crura  thymo  plen^  :  pascuntur  et  arbuta  passim, 
Et  j^Iaiicas  salices,  casiamque  crocumque  rubentem, 
Et  pinguem  tiliam,  et  ferrugineos  hyacinthos. 
Omnibus  una  quies  operum,  labor  omnibus  unus." 

Milverton.  Now,  Miss  Lucy,  you  must  trans- 
late. I  know  you  do  that  with  all  your  uncle's  fa- 
vorite bits :  and  to  tell  the  truth,  I  have  forgotten 
some  of  the  words.     What  is  tilia.? 

Lucy.  You  must  not  be  very  critical  then,  if  I 
do  translate,  and  ask  for  every  word  to  be  rendered. 

Now  homewards  come,  borne  on  the  evening  breeze, 

With  heavv-laden  thighs,  the  younger  bees: 

Each  in  the  arbutus  has  hid  his  head, 

In  yellow  willow-bloom,  in  crocus  red. 

And  the  rich  foliage  which  the  lindens  spread: 

One  common  labor  each  companion  knows, 

And  for  the  weary  swarm  is  one  repose. 

Milverton.  A  little  liberal,  Lucy,  but  it  gives 
some  of  the  sense  of  the  passage,  I  think ;  and  you 
are  a  good  girl  for  not  making  more  fuss  about  let- 
ting me  hear  it.    I  really  must  go  now  ;  so  good-by. 

And  so  I  walked  liomewards,  thinking  much  of 
Dunsford's  mild  wisdom,  and  how  beautiful  it  is 
to  see  old  age  gracefully  fdling  its  high  vocation  of 
a  continually  enlarging  sympathy  with  the  young, 
and  tolerance  for  them.     As  Goethe  says,  "  A  man 


236  COMPANIONS   OF  MT  SOLITUDE. 

has  only  to  become  old  to  be  tolerant;  I  see  no 
fault  committed,"  he  adds,  "  which  I  also  might 
not  have  committed."  But  then  it  is  a  Goethe  who 
is  speaking.  Dunsford  has  reached  to  the  same 
level  of  toleration  by  sheer  goodness  of  nature. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

A  LONG,  solitary  ride  enabled  me  to-day  to 
bring  to  a  conclusion  a  chapter  which  I  had 
been  thinking  of  for  some  time.  It  is  difficult  for 
a  man,  unless  he  is  a  perfect  horseman,  to  tliink 
connectedly  during  a  ride,  which  is  the  very  reason 
why  horse-exercise  is  so  good  for  the  studious  and 
the  busy  ;  but  the  inspiriting  nature  of  the  exercise 
may  enable  the  rider  to  overcome  special  points  of 
difficulty  in  any  subject  he  is  thinking  over.  In 
truth,  a  subject  of  any  magnitude  requires  to  be 
thought  over  in  all  moods  of  mind  ;  and  that  alone 
is  one  great  reason  for  maintaining  thouglits  long 
in  mind,  before  expressing  them  in  speech  or  writ- 
ing, that  they  come  to  be  considered  and  recon- 
sidered under  all  aspects,  and  to  be  modified  by  the 
various  fortunes  antl  states  of  temperament  of  the 
thinker. 

There  is  all  the  dilference  between  the  thoughts 
of  a  man  who  is  plodding  homewards  on  his  own 
logs,  inulcr  an  umbrella,  and  those  of  the  same  man 


238  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

who,  on  horseback,  Is  springing  over  the  elastic  turf, 
careless  whether  wind  or  rain  drives  against  him 
or  not,  that  there  was  between  the  after-dinner 
and  the  next  morning  councils  of  the  ancient 
Germans. 

And,  indeed,  the  subject  I  was  thinking  of,  needs 
to  be  considered  in  all  weathers  of  the  soul,  for  it 
is  very  large  ;  and  if  I  could  present  to  other  minds 
what  comes  under  this  subject  in  mine,  I  should 
have  said  a  good  deal  of  all  that  I  may  have  to  say 
on  most  subjects. 

Without  more  introductory  words,  for  a  long 
introduction  would  be  especially  out  of  place  in 
this  case,  the  subject  in  question  is  the  art  of  coming 
to  an  end. 

Almost  all  human  affairs  are  tedious.  Every  thing 
is  too  long.  Visits,  dinners,  concerts,  plays,  speeches, 
pleadings,  essays,  sermons,  are  too  long.  Pleasure 
and  business  labor  equally  under  this  defect,  or,  as 
I  should  rather  say,  this  fatal  superabundance. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  tiresomeness  belongs 
to  virtue  alone.  Few  people  are  more  pedantic  and 
tiresome  than  the  vicious ;  and  I  doubt  whether  if 
one  were  thrown  on  a  desert  island,  and  had  only 
the  means  of  rescuing  Blair's  works  and  many  fic- 
tions of  decidedly  bad  tendency,  but  thought  to  be 


C0^fPAN10NS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE  239 

amusing,  one  wouUl  not  exclaim,  "  Blair  for  ever  !  " 

and  hurl  the  fictions  into  their  element,  the  water. 

But  let  us  trace  this  Icngthiness,  not  only  in 
the  results  of  men's  works,  but  in  their  modes  of 
operation. 

Which,  of  all  defects,  has  been  the  one  most  fatal 
to  a  good  style  ?  The  not  knowing  when  to  come  to 
an  end.  Take  some  inferior  writer's  works.  Dis- 
miss nearly  all  the  adjectives ;  when  he  uses  many 
substantives,  either  in  juxtaposition,  or  in  some  de- 
pendence on  each  other,  reduce  him  to  one  ;  do  the 
same  thing  witli  the  vcrl)s  ;  iinally,  omit  all  the 
adverbs  ;  and  vou  will,  perhaps,  llnd  out  tliat  this 
writer  had  something  to  say,  which  you  might  never 
have  discovered,  if  you  had  not  removed  the  super- 
fluous words.  Indeed,  in  thinking  of  the  kind  of 
writing  that  is  needed,  I  am  reminded  of  a  stanza 
in  a  wild  Arab  song,  which  runs  thus  :  — 

"Terrible  he  rode  along, 

With  his  Yemen  sword  for  aid ; 
Ornament  it  carried  none, 

But  the  notches  on  the  blade."* 

So,  in  the  best  writing,  only  that  is  ornament  which 

*  See  Tail's  Magazine,  July,  1S50,  for  what  seems  tabe 
an  admirable  translation  of  a  most  remarkable  poem  "of 
an  age  earlier  than  that  of  Mahomet." 


240  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

shows  some  service  done,  which  has  some  dint  of 
thought  about  it. 

Then  there  is  a  whole  class  of  things  which,  though 
good  in  themselves,  are  often  entirely  spoilt  by  being 
carried  out  too  far  and  inopportunely.  Such  ai*e 
punctiliousness,  neatness,  order,  labor  of  finish,  and 
even  accuracy.  The  man  who  does  not  know  how 
to  leave  off,  will  make  accuracy  frivolous  and  vexa- 
tious. And  so  with  all  the  rest  of  these  good  things, 
people  often  persevere  with  them  so  inaptly  and  so 
inopportunely  as  to  contravene  all  their  real  merits. 
Such  people  put  me  in  mind  of  plants  which,  be- 
longing to  one  country  and  having  been  brought  to 
another,  persist  in  flowering  in  those  months  in 
which  they,  or  their  ancestors,  were  used  to  flower 
in  the  old  country.  There  is  one  in  a  garden  near 
me  which  in  February  delights  to  show  the  same 
gay  colors  for  a  day  or  two  here,  in  these  northern 
climes,  with  which  it  was  wont  to  indulge  the  far-off 
inhabitants  of  countries  near  the  Black  Sea.  It  is 
in  vain  that  I  have  remonstrated  with  this  precocious 
slirub  about  its  showing  its  good  qualities  at  so  in- 
appropriate a  period  ;  and  in  fact  it  can  inake  so 
good  an  answer  to  any  man  who  thus  addresses  it, 
that,  perhaps,  it  is  better  to  say  nothing  and  pass 
by,  thinking  only  of  our  own  faults  in  this  respect  — 


COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE.  24I 

and  then,  indeed,  the  sliriib  will  not  have  flowered 
quite  in  vain,  if  it  has  been  only  for  a  single  day. 

A  similar  error  in  not  knowing  when  to  leave  oflf 
occurs  in  the  exercise  of  the  critical  faculty,  which 
some  men  use  till  they  have  deadened  the  creative  : 
and,  in  like  manner,  men  cavil  and  dissect  and  dis- 
pute till  that  which  was  merely  meant  as  a  means  of 
discoveringerror  and  baffling  false  statement,  becomes 
the  only  end  they  care  about,  —  the  truth  for  them. 

But  a  far  more  important  field. for  this  error  of 
superabundance,  is  in  the  vices  of  mankind.  If 
men  had  but  known  when  to  leave  ofl',  what  would 
have  become  of  ambition,  avarice,  gluttony,  quar- 
relling, cruelty?  Men  go  on  conquering  for  con- 
quering's  sake,  as  they  do  hoarding  for  hoarding's 
sake.  If  it  be  true  that  Marlborough  went  on  gain- 
ing needless  victories,  wasting  uncalled-for  blood 
and  treasure,  what  a  contemptible  thing  it  is !  I 
say,  "  if"  he  did  so,  for  but  a  little  investigation 
into  history  shows  one  how  grievously  men  have 
been  misrepresented  ;  and,  not  having  looked  into 
the  matter,  I  will  not  take  the  responsibility  of  the 
accusation  on  myself.  But  the  instance,  if  just,  is 
an  apt  one  ;  and,  certainly,  there  are  many  similar 
instances  in  great  commanders  to  bear  it  out.  But 
16 


242  C03IPANI0NS    OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

what  a  contemptible  application  of  talent  it  is,  that 
a  man  should  go  on  doing  something  very  well 
which  is  not  wanted,  and  should  make  work  for 
himself  that  he  may  shine,  or  at  least  be  occupied. 
It  is  absolutely  childish.  Such  children  have  great 
conquerors  been. 

It  is  a  grand  thing  for  a  man  to  know  when  he 
has  done  his  work.  How  majestic,  for  instance,  is 
the  retirement  of  Sylla,  Diocletian,  and  Charles  the 
Fifth.  These  men  may  not  afford  particularly  spot- 
less instances,  but  we  must  make  the  most  of  those 
we  have.  There  are  very  few  men  who  know  how 
to  quit  any  great  office,  or  to  divest  themselves  of 
any  robe  of  power. 

How  much,  again,  this  error  of  not  knowing 
when  to  leave  off,  pervades  the  various  pursuits  of 
men  !  How  it  is  to  be  seen  in  art  and  literature ; 
how  much  too  in  various  professions  and  various 
crafts  !  The  end  is  lost  sight  of  in  a  foolish  exercise 
of  some  facility  in  dealing  with  the  means  ;  as  when 
a  man  goes  on  writing  for  writing's  sake,  having 
nothing  more  to  tell  us  ;  or  when  a  man  who  exer- 
cises some  craft  moderately  well  for  the  sake  of 
gain,  confines  himself  to  that  craft  and  is  a  crafts- 
man nowhere  else,  when  the  gain  is  no  longer 
needful  for  him. 


COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE.  243 

But  it  may  he  said,  why  speak  of  the  art  of  leav- 
ing oir?  the  instances  you  liave  given  might  some- 
times be  put  under  the  head  of  not  knowing  how  to 
begin ;  or,  at  any  rate,  they  might  more  legiti- 
mately come  under  the  heads  of  the  various  evil 
passions  and  habits  to  which  they  seem  to  belong. 
I  do  not  altogether  deny  this,  but  at  the  same  time 
I  wish  to  show  that  there  is  an  art  of  leaving  off 
which  may  be  exercised  independently,  if  I  may  so 
express  it,  of  the  various  affections  of  the  mind. 

This  art  will  depend  greatly  upon  a  just  appreci- 
ation of  form  and  proportion.  Where  this  propor- 
tion is  wanting  in  men's  thoughts  or  lives,  they 
become  one-sided.  The  mind  enters  into  a  peculiar 
slavery,  and  hardens  into  a  creature  of  mere  habits 
and  customs.  The  comparative  youthfulness  of 
men  of  genius,  which  has  often  been  noticed,  results 
from  their  having  a  finer  sense  of  proportion  than 
other  men,  which  prevents  their  being  enslaved  by 
the  things  which  gradually  close  up  the  avenues  of 
the  soul.  They,  on  the  contrary,  hold  to  Nature  till 
tlie  last,  and  would  partake,  in  some  measure,  if  it 
may  be  so,  of  her  universality. 

I  hardly  know  any  thing  that  serves  to  give  us  a 
greater  notion  of  the  importance  of  proportion  than 
tlie  fiact  made  known  to  us  by  chemistry,  that  but  a 


244  COMPANIONS   OF  MT  SOLITUDE. 

few  elements  mingled  together  in  different  propor- 
tions give  things  of  the  most  different  nature  (as  we 
suppose)  and  different  efficiency.  This  fact,  after  a 
consideration  of  the  infinitely  great  as  appreciated 
by  the  telescope,  and  the  infinitely  small  as  divulged 
by  the  microscope,  is  to  my  mind  the  most  signifi- 
cant in  physics. 

I  fear,  without  more  explanation,  I  shall  hardly 
make  myself  understood  here.  I  mean  that  this 
fact  in  chemistry  affords  a  high  idea  of  the  impor- 
tance of  proportion  ;  and  the  error  we  have  been 
considering  is  one  that  mainly  arises  from  dispro- 
portion. 

For  instance,  this  want  of  power  to  leave  off 
often  shows  an  inadequate  perception  of  the  propor- 
tion which  all  proceedings  here  ought  to  bear  to 
time.  Every  thing  is  a  function  of  time,  as  the 
mathematicians  would  well  express  it.  Then  only 
consider  what  needful  demands  there  are  on  that 
time:  what  forms,  compliments,  civilities,  offices 
of  friendship,  relationship,  and  duty,  have  to  be 
transacted.  Consider  the  interruptions  of  life.  I 
have  often  thought  how  hardly  these  bear  upon  the 
best  and  most  capable  of  men.  Perhaps  there  are 
not  many  more  than  a  thousand  persons  in  the  long 
roll  of  men  who  have  done  any  thing  very  great  for 


COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITCDK.  245 

mankind.  Nations  sliouKl  have  kept  cjuard  at  tlicir 
doors,  as  we  fancy,  that  they  might  work  inidis- 
turbed ;  but,  instead  of  that,  domestic  misery,  pov- 
erty, error,  and  affliction  of  all  kinds  no  doubt 
disturbed  and  distracted  them,  —  not  without  its 
enlightenment,  and  not  perhaps  to  be  wholly  regret- 
ted for  their  sakes.  But  has  any  one  thing  so 
misled  them  and  counteracted  their  abilities  so  much 
as  this  want  of  proportion  I  am  speaking  of,  aris- 
ing from  tlieir  ignorance  or  inability  to  leave  ofl? 
which  has  limited  their  efforts  to  one  thing, — has 
made  the  warrior  a  warrior  only,  incapable  of  deal- 
ing with  his  conquests;  the  statesman  a  man  of 
business  and  devices  only,  so  tliat  he  gains  power 
but  cannot  govern  ;  the  man  of  letters  a  master  of 
phrases  only  ;  the  man  of  so-called  science  a  man, 
like  the  Greek  philosophers,  who  could  only  talk 
about  science,  —  skilful  in  that,  but  never  having 
left  ofl'  that  talking  to  make  a  single  experiment. 

But  surely  there  might  be  a  breadth  of  purpose  and 
extent  of  pursuit  without  inane  versatility.  As 
things  are,  it  is  not  often  that  }ou  find  any  one  who 
hoUls  his  art,  accomplishment,  function,  or  busi- 
ness, in  an  easy  disengaged  way,  like  a  true  gentle- 
man, so  that  he  can  bear  criticism  upon  his  doings 
in  it  nobly  or  indillcrcntly,  who  is  other  tlian  a  kind 


246  COMPANIONS    OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

of  pedagogue.  Much  more  difficult  is  it  to  find  a 
man  who  sees  the  work  before  him  in  its  just  pro-  ^ 
portions  and  does  it,  yet  does  not  make  out  of  his 
work  an  obstacle  to  his  perception  of  what  besides 
is  good  and  needful ;  and  who  keeps  the  avenues 
of  his  mind  open  to  influences  other  than  those 
which  immediately  surround  him. 

I  am  ashamed  when  I  think  of  the  want  of  cul- 
tivation even  In  those  who  are  reckoned  most  culti- 
vated people  ;  and  not  so  much  of  their  want  of 
cultivation,  as  their  want  of  the  power  of  continu- 
ous cultivation.  Few,  therefore,  can  endure  leisure, 
or  in  fact  can  carry  other  burdens  than  those  which 
they  have  been  used  to  —  like  mules  accustomed  to 
carry  panniers  or  pack-saddles  in  mountainous 
countries,  which  steer  their  way  when  free  from 
their  burdens  just  as  if  they  still  bore  them,  allow- 
ing always  the  distance  between  the  rocks  and 
themselves  which  was  necessary  to  clear  their  load- 
ed panniers  ;  a  mode  of  proceeding  which  exceed- 
ingly alarms  and  astonishes  the  traveller  mounted 
on  these  mules,  till  he  understands  the  reason  of  it. 
Both  men  and  mules  are  puzzled  at  having  some- 
thing new  to  tmdertake :  and  indeed  the  art  of 
leaving  off  judiciously  is  but  the  art  of  beginning 
something  else  which  needs  to  be  done. 


CO^fPAXIOXS    OF  MY  SOLITUDE.  247 

But  if  there  is  any  thiii<(  in  which  the  beauty  and 
the  wisdom  of  knowing  when  to  leave  ofV  is  partic- 
ularly manifested,  it  is  in  behavior.  And  how  rare 
is  beautiful  behavior;  greatly  by  reason  of  the  want 
of  due  proportion  in  the  characters  and  objects  of 
most  persons,  and  from  tlieir  want  of  some  percep- 
tion of  the  whole  of  things.  Let  any  man  run 
over  in  his  mind  the  circle  of  his  friends  and  ac- 
quaintances ;  also,  if  he  is  a  well-read  man,  of 
those  whom  he  has  become  acquainted  with  in  his- 
tory or  biography ;  and  he  will  own  how  few  arc, 
or  have  been,  persons  of  beautiful  behavior,  of  real 
greatness  of  mind. 

This  greatness  of  mintl  which  shows  itself  daily 
in  behavior,  and  also  in  conduct  when  you  take  the 
whole  of  a  life,  may  co-exist  with  foibles,  with 
stains,  with  perversities,  with  ignorance,  with  short- 
comings of  any  and  of  every  kind.  But  there  is 
one  thing  which  is  characteristic  of  it,  antl  that  is, 
its  freedom  from  limitation.  No  one  pursuit,  end, 
aim,  or  occupation  permanently  sullies  its  percci> 
tions.  It  may  be  wicked  for  a  time  as  David,  cruel 
for  a  time  as  Caisar,  even  false  ;  but  these  are  only 
passing  forms  of  mind  ;  and  there  is  still  room  for 
virtue,  piety,  self-restraint,  and  clemency.  Its  in- 
telligence is  not  a   mirror  obedient  to  private  im- 


24S  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

pulses  that  reflects  only  that  which  its  will  com- 
mands for  the  time ;  but  gives  candidly  some 
reflection  of  all  that  passes  by.  Hence,  by  God's 
blessing,  it  will  know  how  to  leave  ofl';  whereas, 
on  the  contrary,  the  mind  which  is  hedged  in  by 
the  circumstances  and  ideas  of  one  passion,  or  pur- 
suit, is  painfully  limited,  be  that  passion  or  pursuit 
what  it  may. 

Observe  the  calmness  of  great  men,  noting  by 
the  way,  that  real  greatness  belongs  to  no  station 
and  no  set  of  circumstances.  This  calmness  is  the 
cause  of  their  beautiful  behavior.  Vanity,  injus- 
tice, intemperance,  are  all  smallnesses  arising  from 
a  blindness  to  proportion  in  the  vain,  the  unjust, 
and  the  intemperate.  Whereas,  no  one  thing,  un- 
less it  be  the  love  of  God,  has  such  a  continuous 
hold  on  a  great  mind  as  to  seem  all  in  all  to  it.  The 
great  know,  unconsciously,  more  of  the  real  bene- 
ficent secret  of  the  woidd :  there  is  occasional  re- 
pose of  soul  for  them.  How  can  such  men  be 
subdued  by  money,  be  enclosed  by  the  ideas  of  a 
party,  or  a  faction,  be  so  shut  up  in  a  profession,  an 
art,  or  a  calling,  as  to  see  naught  else,  or  to  believe 
only  in  one  form  of  expression  for  what  is  beauti- 
ful and  good.? 

Passing  b}?^  a  mountain  stream,  I  once  beheld  an 


CU.\fr.\X/0.\'S    OF   .l/T  SOLITUDE.  249 

unfortunate  trunk  of  a  tree,  which,  having  been  shot 
down  the  side  of  a  hill  and  thus  sent  on,  as  the 
custom  is  in  those  countries,  down  the  stream  to 
find  its  way  to  the  haven,  had  unfortunately  come 
too  near  a  strong  eddy,  wliich  caught  it  up  and 
ever  whirled  it  back  again.  How  like  the  general 
course  of  man  !  I  thought.  Down  came  the  log 
with  apparent  vigor  and  intent  each  time,  and  it 
seemed  certain  that  it  would  drive  onwards  in  tlie 
course  designed  for  it ;  but  each  time  it  swirled 
round  and  was  sent  back  again.  Ever  and  anon  it 
came  with  greater  force,  described  a  wider  arc,  and 
surely  now,  I  thought,  it  will  shoot  down  on  its 
way  :  but  no,  it  paused  for  a  moment,  felt  the  influ- 
ence of  its  fatal  eddy,  and  then  returned  with  the 
like  force  it  had  come  down  with.  I  waited  and 
waited,  groups  of  holiday-making  people  passed  by 
mc  wondering,  I  dare  say,  what  I  stayed  there  to 
see;  but  unmindful  of  any  of  us,  it  went  on  per- 
forming its  circles.  I  returned  in  the  evening ;  the 
poor  log  was  still  tliere,  busy  as  ever  in  not  going 
onwards;  and  I  went  upon  my  journey,  feeling  very 
melancholy  for  this  tree,  and  thinking  there  was 
little  hope  for  it.  It  may  even  now  be  at  its  vain 
gyrations,  knowing  no  rest,  and  yet  making  no  ad- 
vance to  the  seas  for  which  it  was  destined. 


250  COMPANIONS    OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

So  let  It  not  be  with  us  :  caught  up  by  :ao  mean 
eddies  which  draw  us  to  the  side  of  the  stream  and 
compel  us  to  revolve  in  the  same  narrow  circlet  of 
passion,  of  prejudice,  of  party,  of  ambition,  of  de- 
sire ;  finding  in  constancy  no  limitation,  in  devoted- 
ness  of  pursuit  no  narrowness  of  heart,  or  thought, 
or  creed ;  choosing  as  the  highway  of  our  career 
one  which  widens  and  deepens  ever  as  we  move 
along  it ;  let  us  float  on  to  that  unmeasured  ocean  of 
thought  and  endeavor  where  the  truly  great  in  soul 
(often  great  because  humble,  for  it  is  the  pride  of 
man  which  keeps  him  to  small  purposes  and  pre- 
vents his  knowing  when  to  leave  oft'  with  earthly 
things),  where  the  truly  and  the  simply  great  shall 
find  themselves  in  kindred  waters  of  far  other  depth 
than  those  which  they  were  first  launched  out 
upon. 

After  writing  down  the  foregoing  thoughts  upon 
the  art  of  coming  to  an  end,  which  had  been  the 
subject  of  my  morning's  ride,  I  went  out  upon  the 
lawn  to  refresh  myself  with  the  evening  air.  It 
was  very  clear :  the  stars  and  the  moon  were  in  all 
their  splendor ;  and  the  shadows  of  the  trees  lay 
quietly  upon  the  grass,  as  if  the  leaves,  for  the  most 
part  so  restless,  were  now  sleeping  on  their  stems, 
like  the  birds  upon  the  branches. 


COMPAXlOyS    OF  MY  SOIJTCDE.  25 1 

I  had  resolved  that  this  reverie,  a  fitting  one  to 
conclude  with,  should  be  the  last  of  which  I  would 
give  an  account.  There  is  something  sad  about 
the  end  of  any  thing,  whether  it  be  the  building  of 
a  palace,  the  construction  of  a  great  history,  like 
that  of  Gibbon,  the  finishing  of  a  child's  baby-house, 
or  the  conclusion  of  some  small,  unpretending  work 
in  literature.  The  first  feelings  of  an  autlior  soon 
pass  by.  Those  hopes  and  those  fears  which  quite 
agitate  the  young  pretender  to  fame  are  equally 
dulled  by  failure  or  success.  Meanwhile,  the  re- 
sponsibility of  writing  does  not  grow  less,  at  least 
in  any  thougiitful  mind.  With  the  little  knowledge 
we  have  on  any  subject,  how  we  muster  audacity  to 
write  upon  it,  I  hardly  know. 

These  signs,  too,  that  we  use  for  communicating 
our  thoughts,  wliich  we  call  language,  what  a 
strange  debris  it  is  of  the  old  languages,  —  a  result  of 
the  manifold  corruptions  of  childish  prattle,  of  the 
uncouth  talk  of  soldiers  sent  into  conquered  prov- 
inces, of  the  vain  etlbrts  of  rude  husbandmen  to  catch 
an  unfamiliar  tongue.  And,  if  we  went  back  to  the 
old  languages,  with  equal  knowledge  of  their  ante- 
cedents, we  should  probably  find  that  they  also  were 
lamentable  gatherings  from  forgotten  tongues,  huts 
out  of  the  ruins  of  palaces. 


253  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

So  much  ioY  the  vehicle  in  which  we  convey  our 
thoughts,  imperfect  enough  in  themselves. 

Then,  if  we  turn  to  the  people,  the  manners,  the 
customs,  and  the  laws  we  have  to  act  upon  with 
these  thoughts,  there,  too,  what  a  mass  of  confusion 
is  presented  to  us,  collected  from  all  parts  of  the 
earth  and  from  all  periods  of  history. 

As  I  thought  of  this,  I  seemed  to  see  the  various 
races  who  had  occupied  this  very  spot  flit  by  — 
Briton,  Roman,  Saxon,  Norman,  each  with  his  laws, 
manners,  and  customs  imprinted  on  his  bearing,  the 
wrecks  of  mighty  empires  shown  in  the  very  accou- 
trements of  each  shadowy  form  as  it  went  by.  And 
this  mass  of  strangely  mingled  materials  is  the  sub- 
stance that  these  imperfect  tlioughts  expressed  in 
imperfect  language  have  to  act  upon. 

And,  then,  what  say  these  stars  with  their  all-elo- 
quent silence,  seeming  to  reduce  all  our  schemes 
into  nothings,  to  make  our  short-lived  perplexities 
ludicrous,  ourselves  and  our  ways  like  a  song  that  is 
not  sung?  What  a  cold  reply  they  seem  to  give  to 
all  human  works  and  questionings. 

But,  said  I  to  myself,  such  trains  of  thought  may 
easily  be  pursued  too  for  ;  we  must  not  bring  in  the 


CU.UPAX/OXS   OF  My  SOLITUDE.  253 

Immensities  about  us  and  williin  us  to  crush  our  en- 
deavors. Here  we  arc  ;  let  stars,  or  bygone  times, 
or  tlic  wrecks  of  nations,  or  the  corruptions  of  lan- 
guage, say  or  show  what  tliey  will.  There  is  some- 
thing also  to  be  done  by  us :  we  have  our  little 
portions  of  the  reef  of  coral  yet  to  build  up.  If  we 
have  not  time  to  become  wise,  we  have  time  enough 
to  become  resigned.  If  we  have  rude  and  confused 
material  to  work  upon,  and  uncoutli  implements  to 
work  with,  less  must  be  required  from  us  ;  and,  as 
for  these  stars,  the  true  meaning  to  be  got  from  them 
is  in  reality  an  encouraging  one. 

Some  men  have  thought  tliat  one  star  or  planet 
befriended  them  ;  some,  another.  This  man  glew 
joyful  when  the  ascendant  star  of  his  nativity  came 
into  conjunction  with  Jupiter,  favorable  to  his  des- 
tinies ;  and  that  man  grew  pale  when  his  planet 
came  into  opposition  with  Saturn,  noxious  to  his 
horoscope,  threatening  the  ''  House  of  Life."  Nor 
is  astrology  extinct :  science  only  lends  it  moi'e 
meaning,  but  not  a  private  one  for  kings  or  poten- 
tates. These  stars  say  something  very  significant  to 
all  of  us:  and  each  man  has  the  whole  hemisphere 
of  them,  if  he  will  but  look  up,  to  counsel  and  be- 
friend him.  In  the  morning  time,  they  come  not 
within  ken,  when  they  would  too  much  absorb  our 


254  COMPANIONS   OF  MY  SOLITUDE. 

attention,  and  hinder  our  necessary  business,  but  in 
the  evening,  they  appear  to  us,  to  chasten  over-per- 
sonal thoughts,  to  put  down  what  is  exorbitant  in 
earth-bred  fancies,  and  to  encourage  those  endeav- 
ors and  aspirations  wliich  meet  witli  no  full  response 
from  any  single  planet,  certainly  not  from  the  one 
we  are  on,  but  which  derive  their  meaning  and  their 
end  from  the  vastness  and  the  harmony  of  the  whole 
of  God-directed  nature  and  of  life. 

So  thinking,  I  w^as  enabled  for  a  moment  to  see, 
or  rather  to  feel,  that  the  threads  of  our  poor  human 
affairs,  tangled  as  they  seem  to  be,  might  yet  be  in- 
terwoven harmoniously  with  the  great  chords  of  love 
and  duty  that  bind  the  universe  together.  And  so  I 
returned  to  the  house,  and  said  "  Good  night "  cheer- 
fully to  the  friendly  stars,  which  did  not  now  seem 
to  oppress  me  by  their  magnitude,  or  their  multi- 
tude, or  their  distance. 


INDEX. 


AcADEML'S,  groves  of,  liJive  a  competitor,  141. 

Accomplishments  aid  in  getting  rid  of  small  anxieties,  187. 

Accuracy  spoilt  by  being  carried  too  far,  240. 

Administrative  officer  suggested,  103. 

Admiration,  insincerity  in,  to  be  avoided,  205. 

Advice  to  a  descendant  who  would  retrieve  the  fortunes  of 
the  Author's  family,  53;  to  men  in  small  authority,  208. 
-Affection  not  generally  inspired  by  the  Church  of  England, 
216. 

Affections  of  the  mind,  skill  in  dealing  with,  to  be  ac- 
quired, 171. 

Agreement  amongst  men,  in  thought,  impossible,  210. 

Amusement  necessary  for  man,  34-36;  should  be  contrived 
for  him,  36;  poverty  of  England's  resources,  with  re- 
spect to,  204. 

Anglo-Saxons  can  afford  to  cultivate  art,  36. 

Annals  of  the  poor,  familiar  words  in,  104. 

Arab  song,  verse  of,  applied  to  writing,  239. 

Art,  the  pursuit  of,  often  incompatible  with  fortune,  59. 

Art  of  coming  to  an  end,  largeness  of  the  subject,  23S; 
may  be  exercised  independently  of  the  affections  of  the 
mind,  243;  ignorance  of,  has  limited  men's  eff'orts,  245, 
is  but  the  art  of  beginning  something  new,  246. 

Astrology  not  extinct,  253. 

Author's  thoughts  on  the  future  fortunes  of  his  family,  46. 

Author,  the  first  feelings  of  one  soon  pass  away,  251. 


256  INDEX. 

Authority  on  great  subjects,  scarcely  any  mind  so  free 
from  its  influence  that  it  can  boldly  apprehend  the  ques- 
tion for  itself,  147. 

B. 

Bacon,  remark  from  him  on  the  need  of  a  friend,  53;  an 

instance  of  the  compatibility  of  literature  with  action, 

72. 
Behavior,  the  beauty  and  wisdom  of  knowing  when   to 

leave  off  particularly  manifested  in,  247;  beauty  of,  very 

rare,  247. 
Bereavements,  199. 

Blair,  his  works  preferred  to  fictions,  238. 
Blame  often  good,  but  only  as  good  fiction,  179. 
Books  a  resource  against  physical  and  mental  storms,  169. 
Borgias,  the  cause  of  new  Post-office  regulations,  26. 
Breadth  of  purpose  might  exist  without  inane  versatility, 

245- 
Brutus,  how  his  part  might  be  played  in  the  law,  8. 
Burke,  an  instance  of  the  compatibility  of  literature  with 

action,  72. 
Burleigh,  Lord,  speech  of  his  to  his  gown  of  state,  1S6. 


Caesar,  an  instance  that  literature  is  compatible  w'ith  great 

actions,    71 ;    his   cruelty   consistent   with   greatness    of 

mind,  247. 
Calumny,  ordinary  source  of,    176;    most  men  of  njany 

transactions  subject  to,  176;  to  be  looked  upon  as  pure 

misfortune,  176;  way  of  treating  it,  176;  too  much  stress 

should  not  be  laid  on  it,  177. 
Camoens,  an  instance  that  literature  is  compatible  with 

action,  71 ;  quotation  from,  155. 
Carlyle,  Mr.,  says  that  a  great  writer  creates  a  want  for 

himself,  72. 


INDEX.  257 

Ccnsoriousness  the  inventor  of  many  sins,  31. 

Cervantes,  an  instance  tiiat  literature  is  compatible  with 
action,  71. 

Chance  delights  in  travelling,  199. 

Character,  diversities  of,  met  with  in  travel,  a  delight,  200. 

Charity,  taught  by  error,  15;  requires  the  sternest  labor, 
33;  one  of  the  most  dillicult  things,  34;  not  comprised 
in  remedying  material  evils,  34;  often  mixed  up  with  a 
mash  of  sentiment  and  sickly  feeling,  89;  a  difficult  and 
perplexed  thing,  165. 

Charles  V.,  anecdote  of,  210;  his  retirement  majestic,  242. 

Christianity  partly  to  blame  for  the  over-rigid  views  with 
reference  to  unchastity,  87 ;  to  correct  political  econo- 
my, 100;  made  a  stumbling-block  to  many,  106. 

Christian  temper,  opportunities  for  its  manifestation  af- 
forded to  all  functionaries  connected  with  travelling, 
208. 

Church,  qualities  to  be  sought  for  in,  24;  perfection  to  be 
aimed  at  in,  217. 

Churches,  advantages  of  their  being  open,  21S. 

Church,  the,  obstacles  to  the  reform  of,  21S;  evil  of  un- 
necessary articles  of  faith  in,  219. 

Church-going,  hindrances  to,  amongst  the  poor  in  Eng- 
land, 105. 

Church  of  England,  the.  suflers  from  opposite  attacks, 
214;  its  foundations  need  more  breadth  and  solidity, 
2i6;  too  impersonal,  216;  deficiency  of  heartiness  in, 
217. 

Church  questions,  opposing  facts  and  arguments  in,  sel- 
dom come  into  each  other's  presence,  24. 

Chemistry  affords  a  high  idea  of  the  importance  of  pro- 
portion, 2^3. 

Civilization  ought  to  render  the  vicissitudes  of  life  less 
extreme,  87;  its  advance  tells  less  upon  women  tlian 
upon  men,  234. 

Climate  of  England,  dillicult  to  live  in,  7. 
17 


258  INDEX. 

Colleges  an  instance  of  misplaced  labor,  12. 

Colonization,  room  for  improvement  in,  213. 

Coleridge,  his  explanation  of  the  word  "  world,"  106. 

Competition,  evils  of,  considerable,  33;  in  length  of  ser- 
mons, ^i- 

Competition  in  puritanical  demonstration,  injurious  to 
sincerity,  33 ;  the  child  of  fear,  33. 

Companionship  in  travelling,  dangers  of,  196. 

Companions,  qualities  which  would  render  them  a  gain^ 
19S;  much  to  be  learned  from,  in  travel,  198. 

Confessor,  good  functions  of,  might  be  fulfilled  bj  many 
Protestants,  106. 

Confidence,  in  making  any,  you  lose  the  royal  privilege 
of  beginning  the  discourse  on  that  topic,  13S;  should 
be  put  aside  in  bearing  misfortune,  170;  origin  of,  170; 
difficult  to  lay  aside,  170. 

Conquerors,  great,  have  committed  the  error  of  super- 
abundance, 241. 

Constitutional  governments  have  their  price,  102. 

Constitution  of  England,  advantages  of,  211;  disadvan- 
tages of,  212. 

Contempt  not  justifiable  in  mortals,  loS. 

Conventionality,  an  enemy  to  the  opposers  of  the  "great 
sin  of  great  cities,"  loS;  the  adoration  offered  up  to 
vvorldliness,  loS;  increases  the  great  sin  of  great  cities, 
109. 

Conventionalities, _  small,  women  more  slavish  to  them 
than  men,  234. 

Conviction,  unlimited  power  of  a  spirit  resulting  from, 
148;  its  expansive  power,  153. 

Counteraction  the  true  strategy  in  attacking  vice,  97. 

Country  in  winter  like  a  great  man  in  adversitj',  16. 

Courier,  Paul  Louis,  an  instance  that  literature  is  compat- 
ible with  action,  71. 

Critical  faculty,  error  in  exercising  it  too  much,  241. 

Criticism,  compared  to  the  copies  of  Leonardo  da  Vinci's 


INDEX.  259 

fresco  of  the  Last  Supper,  23;  object  in  listening  to  it, 
224. 

Cultivation,  a  potent  remeilv  for  the  "  great  sin  of  great 
cities,"  97;  metaplior  on,  232. 

Cultivation,  general,  the  want  of,  cripples  individual  ex- 
cellence, 7;  the  want  of,  prevents  the  enjoyment  of  sci- 
entific discovery,  12. 

Cultivation,  continuous,  should  be  the  object  for  states- 
men and  all  governing  people,  9S;  the  power  of,  defi- 
cient in  most  men,  246. 

Customs,  evil,  spread  rapidly,  203;  good,  make  way  slow- 
ly, 203. 

Cyrus,  his  mode  of  keeping  the  Lydians  tame,  36. 

D. 

David,  his  wickedness  consistent  with  greatness  of  mind, 

247- 
Day,  a,  an  epitome  of  a  life,  193. 

Dead  level  in  men's  character,  notion  of,  a  mistake,  228. 

Descartes,  an  instance  that  literature  is  compatible  with 
action,  71. 

Description  of  a  foreign  scene  from  a  bridge,  159. 

Despair  the  sla%'c-drivcr  to  many  crimes,  86. 

Despotism,  the  sternest,  often  found  in  social  life,  41. 

Difi'erences,  great,  amongst  thoughtful  men  about  great 
subjects  should  not  be  stifled,  214. 

Difficulties,  intellectual  and  spiritual,  great  hearing  of, 
suggested,  24. 

Diocletian,  his  retirement  majestic,  242. 

Diplomatic  services  peculiarly  fit  to  be  performed  by  liter- 
ary men,  73. 

Disasters  become  possessions,  172. 

Disciples  do  not  aid  the  discovery  of  truth,  193. 

Disproportion  a  main  cause  of  the  error  of  superabun- 
dance, 245. 


26o  INDEX. 

Dissatisfaction  with  their  own  work,  advice  to  those  who 
suffer  from,  iS6. 

Division  of  labor  partly  a  cause  of  ignorance,  I2. 

Divorce,  law  of,  may  require  modification,  146. 

Domestic  annoyances,  mischief  and  vexations  caused  by» 
42. 

Domestic  servants  particularly  liable  to  the  slaveryof  con- 
ventionality, 109;  temptations  of,  no;  improvements  in 
the  management  of,  suggested,  no. 

Doubts  on  the  greatest  matters  the  result  of  the  falsifica- 
tions of  our  predecessors,  22. 

Duelling  disarmed  by  public  opinion,  151. 

Dutch,  the,  their  "  forget  book,"  used  for  the  mishaps  of  a 
journey, 194. 

Duties  often  very  dubious,  164. 

Dwellings,  improvement  "of,  one  means  of  enabling  the 
wages  of  the  poor  to  go  further,  100. 

E. 

Education,  a  potent  remedy  for  the  "great  sin  of  great 
cities,"  97;  must  continue  through  life,  161;  larger  views 
of,  required,  161 ;  suffers  from  religious  differences,  214; 
enabling  powers  of,  226. 

Ellesmere's  story,  ii8. 

Emerson,  quotation  from  his  chapter  on  Beauty  of  Nature, 
207. 

Emigration  not  the  only  remedy  for  poverty,  100. 

End  of  any  thing,  the,  sadness  of,  245. 

England,  foreign  notions  of,  122;  Constitution  of,  its  ad- 
vantages, 210;  its  disadvantages,  2n. 

English  people,  their  genius  severe,  36;  would  not  be 
cramped  by  judicious  regulations,  64;  description  of, 
194. 

Errors  made  into  sins  by  miscalling  them,  32. 

Evil  carries  with  it  its  teachings,  95. 


INDEX.  261 

Evils,  their  true  proportions  often  not  understood,  171. 
Experience   gained  by  satTering,    1S9;    of   life,  an   aid  in 
bearing  injustice,  1S3. 

F. 

Fable  of  a  choice  being  given  to  men  on  their  entrance 
into  life,  58. 

Family  vanity  exasperates  rigid  virtue,  90. 

Father,  a  thoroughly  judicious,  one  of  the  rarest  creatu^e^., 
91. 

Felicity  a  hostage  to  Fortune,  1S9. 

Fiction  has  filled  women's  heads  with  untrue  views  of  hu- 
man life,  97;  may  be  better  than  nothing  for  the  mind, 
98. 

Finance,  room  for  improvement  in,  213. 

Flowers,  their  names  show  that  poets  lived  in  the  country, 
21. 

Folly  will  find  a  place  even  at  the  side  of  princes,  64. 

Foresight  crushes  all  but  men  of  great  resolution,  56. 

Freedom,  clamor  for,  a  chief  obstacle  to  its  possession,  10 ; 
from  restraint  in  travelling,  199. 

Freemasonry  among  children,  44.     ^ 

Friend,  the  advantage  of  one,  179.      \ 

Friends  not  of  a  prolific  nature,  53.   Jj 

G. 

Gayety  not  necessarily  an  element  of  wickedness,  28. 
Gardens,  the  love  of,  the  last  refuge  of  art  in  the  minds 

of  Englishmen,  j.8. 
Garrick,  speech  of  Johnson's  to  him,  iSS. 
Generosity  of  mean  people  does  not  deceive  the  bystander, 

ISO- 
Germans,  simplicity  of,  121. 
Goethe  feared  to  enter  upon  biblical  criticism,  22 ;   says 


263  INDEX. 

that  no  creature  is  happy,  or  even  free,  except  in  the 
circuit  of  law,  93 ;   remark  by  him  on  toleration,  236. 

Gospel,  the,  prevents  the  triumph  of  despair,  S6. 

Government  unfit  for  women,  145';  many  improvements 
in,  required,  213;  sound  reform  in,  difiicult,  213. 

Grand  thoughts  adverse  to  any  abuse  of  the  passions,  96. 

Great  men,  their  abilities  counteracted  by  a  want  of  pro- 
portion, 245;  cause  of  their  calmness,  248;  and  repose 
of  soul,  24S;  their  freedom  from  limitation,  247. 

Great  mind,  no  one  thing,  unless  it  be  the  love  of  God, 
seems  all  in  all  to  it,  248. 

Great  sin  of  great  cities,  the,  pointed  out,  83 ;  mournful- 
ness  of,  83 ;  an  accurate  concentration  of  the  evils  of 
society,  83;  nature  of,  84;  degrades  the  race,  85.;  feel- 
ings of  the  people  concerned  in  it,  85;  main  cause  of, 
86;  over-rigid  views  in  reference  to  unchastity  a  cause 
of,  87;  charity  in  the  virtuous  recommended  towards, 
88;  want  of  obedience  to  Christian  precepts  in  reference 
to,  89;  want  of  charity  towards,  makes  error  into  crime, 
90;  family  pride  prevents  charity  in,  90;  ill-management 
of  parents  a  cause  of,  92;  uncleanliness  of  men  a  cause 
of,  in  the  lower  classes,  94;  cause  of,  applying  to  men, 
95;  the  want  of  other  thoughts  one  source  of,  96;  edu- 
cation and  cultivation  potent  remedies  for,  97;  remedies 
for,  99;  conventionality  aids  to  increase  it,  loS;  domes- 
tic servants  frequent  victims  to,  109;  improvement  in 
men  to  be  hoped  for  as  a  remedy,  11 1 ;  love  a  preventa- 
tive of,  112. 

Greatness  of  mind  may  co-exist  with  shortcomings  of 
every  kind,  247;  its  characteristic,  247;  belongs  to  no 
station,  247. 

Greatness  of  thought  or  nature  not  always  connected  with 
resounding  deeds,  229. 

Greeks,  perhaps  prevented  from  becoming  dominant  by  a 
cultivation  of  many  arts,  37. 

Grotius,  an  instance  of  the  compatibility  of  literature  with 
action,  72. 


INDEX.  263 

H. 

Happiness,  personal,  small  aniount  of,  needed,  189. 

Heart,  the  human,  tyranny  of,  how  proved,  203. 

Hindrances  to  men's  best  endeavors  often  slight,  225. 

History  of  the  world,  the,  compared  to  the  prints  of  Leo- 
nardo da  Vinci's  fresco  of  the  Last  Supper,  23. 

Home  should  be  made  very  happy  to  children,  93. 

Horse  exercise  advantages  of,  237. 

House  of  Commons,  improvement  in,  suggested,  212. 

House  of  Lords,  how  to  supply  to  it  an  element  of  popu- 
lar influence,  212. 

Human  affairs  almost  all  tedious,  23S;  threads  of,  might 
be  interwoven  with  the  cords  that  bind  the  universe  to- 
gether, 254. 

Human  beings,  their  power  to  maintain  their  structure 
unimpaired  in  a  hostile  element  shown  in  the  law,  11. 

Human  life,  mischief  of  unsound  representations  of,  9S. 

Humanity,  a  low  view  of,  probably  the  greatest  barrier  to 
the  highest  knowledge,  96. 

Humility,  taught  by  error,  15,  21;  promotes  cheerfulness, 
21 ;  in  dealing  with  misfortunes,  174. 

Humor  the  deepest  part  of  some  men's  nature,  191. 

Hurry,  wise  men  do  not,  without  good  reason,  204. 

Hypocrisy  the  homage  which  vice  pays  to  virtue,  loS. 

Hypocrites  pronounced  the  choice  society  of  the  world,  SS. 


Ignorance   partly  proceeds  from  division  of  labor,   12;    a 

hindrance  to  Church  reform,  21S. 
Imagination,  want  of,  in  most  men  confines  them  to  the 

just  appreciation  of  those  natures  which  are  like  their 

own,  178. 
Indulgence  requires  no  theory  to  support  it,  95. 
Infelicities  belong  to  the  state  below,  1S9. 


264  INDEX. 

Injudicious  dress,  great  suffering  caused  by,  42. 

Injurious  comment  on  people's  conduct,  considerations 
which  should  prevent  it,  or  console  the  sufferers,  177. 

Injustice  a  very  different  thing  from  misfortune,  and  in- 
commensurable with  it,  179;  arises  from  blindness  to 
proportion,  246. 

Insincerity  about  religion,  its  continuance  prevents  much 
good,  214. 

Intemperance  arises  from  blindness  to  proportion,  246. 

Intellectual  energies  of  cultivated  men  want  directing  to 
the  great  questions,  219. 

Intelligent  men  liberal  in  assigning  the  limits  of  power,  67. 

Intelligent  public  opinion  will  prevent  despotism  in  a  min- 
ister, 67. 

Intercommunication  between  rich  and  poor  should  be 
facilitated,  103. 

Investigation  into  prices  will  prevent  people  from  running 
madly  after  cheapness,  100. 

Irrationality  of  mankind  to  be  prepared  for  in  all  under- 
takings, 222. 

J. 

James  the  First  of  Scotland,  an  instance  of  the  compati- 
bility of  literature  with  action,  72. 

Johnson,  Dr.,  one  of  his  highest  delights,  140;  speech  of 
his  to  Garrick,  iSS. 

Journey,  a,  how  dissimilar  to  a  life,  193. 

Judas  Iscariot  might  have  done  better  than  to  hang  him- 
self, 91. 

Justice  not  to  be  expected  in  this  world,  1S3;  idea  of  its 
personification,  1S3. 

K. 

Kindness  not  an  encourager  of  the  "great  sin  of  great 
cities,"  91. 


INDEX.  265 

Knowledge,  its  doubts  a  hindrance  to  vigorous  statement, 
28;  of  vice  not  knowledge  of  the  world,  95;  of  the 
world,  how  gained,  96;  the  means  and  the  end  in  trav- 
elling, 194. 

L. 

Labor  of  finish  spoilt  by  being  carried  too  far,  240. 

Laced.xnionians  acknowledged  the  duties  of  a  father,  165. 

Language,  change  of,  in  travelling,  a  delight,  201 ;  imper- 
fections of,  251. 

Law,  loss  in,  8;  improvement  in,  to  be  hoped  for  from 
general  improvement  of  the  people,  8;  satire  falls  shor* 
when  aimed  at  its  practices,  10;  maintained  as  a  mystery 
by  its  adjuncts,  11  ;  many  admirable  men  to  be  found  in 
all  grades  of,  11  ;  compared  to  a  fungus,  47. 

Laws  of  supply  and  demand  overruled  by  higher  influ- 
ences, 150. 

Lawyers,  time  spent  at  their  offices  the  saddest  portion  of 
man's  existence,  10;  not  answerable  for  all  the  evils  at- 
tributed to  their  proceedings,  10;  work  of,  compared  with 
that  of  statesmen,  172. 

Lengthiness  fatal  to  a  good  style,  239. 

Leonardo  da  Vinci,  thoughts  suggested  by  his  fresco  of 
the  Last  Supper,  23. 

Life,  objects  of,  as  regards  this  world,  28;  the  bubtle  of, 
keeps  sadness  at  the  bottom  of  the  iieart,  50. 

Limitation,  freedom  from,  a  characteristic  of  greatness  of 
mind,  247. 

Literary  men  more  of  cosmopolites  than  other  men,  73; 
would  be  improved  by  real  business,  73;  plan  for  re- 
warding them  proposed,  74. 

Literary  work  requires  many  of  the  qualifications  of  a  man 
of  business,  70. 

Literature  affords  a  choice  of  men  to  a  statesman,  70. 

Log  caught  by  an  eddy,  man's  course  compared  to  one, 
349. 


266  INDEX. 

Logic  halts  sometimes  when  applied  to  charity,  88. 

Loneliness  of  a  thoughtful  man,  i8. 

Lorenzo  de'  Medici,  an  instance  of  the  compatibility  of 
literature  with  action,  72. 

Love  cannot  be  schooled  much,  98;  implies  infinite  re- 
spect, 112;  power  of,  112;  the  memory  of,  must  prevent 
"the  great  sin  of  great  cities,"  112;  of  God  need  not 
withdraw  us  from  our  fellow-men,  34. 

Luther,  quotation  from,  on  tribulation,  86 ;  saying  of  his 
to  his  wife,  182. 

M. 

Machiavelli,  an  instance  of  the  compatibility  of  literature 
with  action,  71. 

Malignities,  why  fostered  in  small  towns  and  villages,  36. 

Man,  his  faculties  frequently  appear  inadequate  to  his  sit- 
uation, 13;  generally  his  own  worst  antagonist,  20;  be- 
comes deformed  by  surrendering  himself  to  any  one 
pursuit,  73;  an  isolated  being,  230;  one  rarely  found 
who  holds  his  art,  accomplishment,  function,  or  busi- 
ness in  an  easy  disengaged  way,  245;  one  whose  mind 
is  open  to  other  influences  than  those  which  surround 
him,  difficult  to  find,  246;  his  course  like  a  log  caught 
by  an  eddy,  249. 

Marlborough,  his  victories,  if  needless,  contemptible,  341. 

Marriage,  unhappiness  in,  does  not  justify  "the  great  sin 
of  great  cities,"  146;  our  present  notions  of,  probably 
imperfect,  147. 

Medical  men,  opportunities  of,  for  communication  with 
the  poor,  107. 

Men  require  amusement  as  much  as  children,  44;  occa- 
sionally deceived  by  theories  about  equality,  94;  ill  pre- 
pared for  social  life,  196;  how  to  fit  them  for  social  life, 
197;  will  be  more  easy  to  deal  with  as  they  become 
greater,  227 ;  their  pursuits  pervaded  by  the  error  of  not 
knowing  when  to  leave  off,  240;  small  number  of,  who 


INDEX.  267 

have  done  anything  great  for  mankind,  244;  compared 

to  mules  carrying  burdens   in   mountainous  countries, 

346. 
Men,  the  greatest,  compared  to  fig-trees  in  England,  192. 
Men,  great,  imaginative,  never  utterly  enslaved  by  their 

functions,  200. 
Men    of   genius,    their   comparative   joutlifulness    results 

from  their  fine  sense  of  proportion,  243. 
Men  of  the  world,  self-sufficiency  of,  14S;  their  probable 

objection  to  the  proposed  remedies  for  "  the  great  sin  of 

great  cities,"  149;  reply  to  their  objection,  149. 
Mcndoza,  an  instance  that  literature   is  compatible  with 

action,  71. 
Mental  preparation  for  travelling  essential,  195. 
Metaphor,  probably  the  introducer  of  frightful  errors,  22; 

essential  in  narration,  22. 
Metastasio,  passage  from,  190. 
Milton,  an  instance  of  the  compatibility  of  literature  with 

action,  72;   his  "Doctrine  and  Discipline  of  Divorce,*' 

arguments  contained  therein  not  easily  answered,  147. 
Mind,  repose  of,  gained  by  travel,  198. 
Minister  of  education,  duties  which  might  devolve  on  one, 

104. 
Ministers  of  religion,  their  temptations  to  err,  106. 
Mirabeau,   men   like   him   will   have    an    aversion    to    the 

"great  sin  of  great  cities,"  113. 
Miseries  of  private  life  require  to  be  kept  down  by  wise 

and  good  thoughts,  41. 
Misfortune  often  makes  men  ungenerous,  51. 
Misfortunes  exercise  all  the  moods  and  faculties  of  a  man, 

172;  wise  way  of  dealing  with  them,  174;  mean,  often 

most  difficult  to  bear,  184. 
Misplaced  labor,  quantity  of,  7;  observable  in  schools,  col- 
leges, and  parliaments,  12. 
Modern  cultivation  does  not  necessarily  tend  to  subdue 

greatness,  229. 


268  index: 

Monomaniacs,  too  little  account  taken  of  them,  176. 
Moral  writings,  the  great  triumph  of,  59. 
Murillo,  pictures  of,  truly  admired  only  by  a  kindred  gen- 
ius, 204. 

N. 

Napoleon,  his  invasion  of  Russia  a  good  opportunity  for 
working  out  his  errors,  13;  an  instance  that  literature  is 
compatible  with  great  actions,  71 ;  probable  effect  of  his 
worldly  wisdom  in  not  remembering  too  much  his  Rus- 
sian campaign,  173. 

Nations,  benefits  arising  from  intercommunication  of,  203 ; 
differences  between,  small  when  compared  with  their 
resemblances,  203. 

Native  land,  a  serious  place  to  every  man,  19S. 

Nature,  considerable  address  required  to  cope  with  her,  12  ; 
goodness  of,  in  permitting  error,  20;  habitual  apprecia- 
tion of,  to  be  cultivated,  207. 

Neatness  spoilt  by  being  carried  too  far,  240. 

Neglect,  aids  in  bearing  it,  iSo. 

Newton,  change  of  study  his  recreation,  1S6. 

o. 

Obloquy,  consolation  in  bearing  it,  175. 

Obstruction  to  be  encountered  by  men  in  power,  65. 

Obtrusiveness  of  thoughts,  17. 

Officers  of  State  ought  to  prevent  much  private  expense  in 

law,  9. 
Opinion,  the  general  body  of,  very  fluent,  175. 
Originality,  diseased  desire  for,  230. 

P. 

Parents,   ill   management  of,   a  common    cause    of   "  the 

great  sin  of  great  cities,"  92. 
Parliaments  an  instance  of  misplaced  labor,  12. 


INDEX.  269 

Paternal  duties,   imperative,   165;    difficult  to   fulfil,  166; 

forgetful iiess  of,  encourages  inimorality,  167. 
Peace  brings  with  it  a  sensation  of  power,  79. 
Pedagogues,  most  men  become  such,  245. 
Peel,  Sir  Robert,  his  death   inopportune,  210;    his   good 

qualities,   211;    great  loss   in   him,   213;    sketch  of  his 

character,  222. 
Peerages  for  life  desirable,  213. 
Pensions  should  generally  be  given  to  the  persons  wlio 

could  have  done  the  things  for  which  such  rewards  are 

given,  but  who  have  not  done  them,  74. 
People,  modern,  a  mass  of  confusion,  352. 
Pine  wood,  description  of  one,  78. 

Pharisees  pronounced  the  choice  society  of  the  world,  88. 
Philosophy,  sobriety  of  mind  from,  1S7. 
Physical  works,  waste  and  obstruction  in,  I2. 
Plato,  his  harsh  opinion  of  poets  accounted  for,  22. 
Plausibility  makes  injustice  hard  to  unravel,  124. 
Pleasure,   Spanish  verses  on,   17;    past,   Sydney  Smith's 

opinion  of,  18;  falls  into  no  plan,  79. 
Politics,  greater  things  may  be  done  out  of  them  than  in 

them,  19. 
Poor,  the  limited  education  of,  a  mistake,  161 ;  room  for 

improvement  in  dealings  with,  216. 
Pope  Alexander  the  Sixth,  to  blame  for  the  post-oflice 

regulations,  27. 
Portrait  painting  compared  to  the  copies  of  Leonardo  da 

Vinci's  fresco  of  the  Last  Supper,  23.  ^ 

Poverty,  the  removal   of.  a  remedy  for  "  the  great  sin  of 

great  cities,'    99;  t\vo  kinds  of,  99;  women  endure  an 

undue  proportion  of  it,  144. 
Power,  in  rising  to  it,  men  fail  to  learn  how  to  use  it,  102. 
Practical  wisdom  in  dealing  with  vexations,  174. 
Preachers,  topics  of,  too  limited,  217. 
Pride  chastises  with  heavier  hand  than  Pchitence,  1S5;  of 

man  prevents  his  knowing  when  to  leave  oft",  250. 


270  INDEX. 

Priests  should  facilitate  the  intercommunication  between 
rich  and  poor,  103. 

Private  opinions  on  important  subjects,  by  whom  to  be 
indulged  in,  57. 

Property,  facilities  should  be  afforded  for  the  poor  to  be- 
come owners  of,  loi. 

Proportion,  want  of,  makes  men  one-sided,  243 ;  compara- 
tive youthfulness  of  men  of  genius  results  from  their 
fine  sense  of,  243 ;  its  importance  shown  in  chemistrj', 
243 ;  want  of,  accounts  for  the  rarity  of  beautiful  be- 
havior, 247. 

Protestantism,  disadvantage  of  its  closed  churches,  218. 

Proverbs  seldom  true  except  for  the  occasion  on  which 
they  are  used,  59. 

Prudence  a  substantial  virtue  here,  7. 

Public  meeting,  noise  made  by  a  man  there  proportioned 
to  his  ignorance  of  the  subject,  27. 

Public  notaries  suggested,  9. 

Public  opinion,  triumph  of,  over  duelling,  151. 

Punctiliousness  spoilt  by  being  carried  too  far,  240. 

Puritan,  absurd,  the  correlative  of  a  wicked  Pope,  27. 

Puritanism,  thoughts  on,  30;  good  as  an  abnegation  of 
self,  30;  when  an  evil,  31. 

Q: 

Quaker,  conversation  of  one,  29. 

R. 

Railway  legislation  required  earlier  Government  inter- 
ference, 65. 

Raphael,  pictures  of,  truly  admired  only  by  a  kindred 
genius,  204. 

Rational  pleasures  difficult  to  define,  28. 

Reason,  the  hold  of  the  Church  on,  considered,  216. 

Reasoning  powers  require  development  in  women,  107. 


INDEX.  271 

Recollection  one  of  tlie  main  delights  of  a  journey, 
194. 

Reflection  on  past  ambitions,  sadness  of,  19. 

Reform,  slow  progress  of,  153. 

Reformers,  reproach  made  against,  152;  objects  of,  151. 

Regret,  almost  infinite,  at  having  missed  the  one  desired 
happiness,  1S8. 

Remedies,  political,  often  come  too  late,  212. 

Remorse  a  main  obstacle  to  outward  improvement,  85. 

Relations  of  life,  the  great,  difficult  of  performance,  92. 

Religion,  comfort  of  mind,  from,  187;  room  for  improve- 
ment in  the  proceedings  of  the  state  with  respect  to,  213; 
probable  mischief  produced  by  degrading  views  of,  215; 
thoughts  on,  should  not  be  suppressed,  216. 

Religious  spirit,  deficiency  of,  not  concealed  by  outward 
deeds,  150. 

Repining  person,  speech  made  to  one,  58. 

Representation  and  transfer  of  property,  improvement  in, 
a  means  of  enabling  the  wages  of  tiie  poor  to  go  fur- 
ther, 100. 

Respectability,  undue  care  for,  amongst  men,  229. 

Responsibility  of  writing  does  not  grow  less,  251. 

Retired  allowances  for  servants  suggested,  no. 

Retrospect  not  a  very  safe  or  wise  thing,  45;  cannot  be 
avoided,  45 ;  how  the  process  of,  ditlers  from  that  pur- 
sued by  Alnaschar,  in  the  Arabian  Nii^/its,  45. 

Retrospection,  excessive,  to  be  avoided,  89. 

Reveries,  various  forms  of,  6i. 

Ridicule,  foar  of,  amongst  young  men,  230. 

Rochefoucauld  probably  a  dupe  to  impulses  and  affection 

51- 
Roman   Catholics,   some  things   might  be   adopted    from 

them  in  forming  a  Church,  217. 
Roman  Emperors,  the  probably  maligned,  175. 
Rouen,  scene  in  the  Cathedral  there,  217. 
Russian  Campaign,  a,  experienced  by  most  men,  13. 


272  INDEX. 

S. 

Sanitary  measures,  delay  in,  66. 

Sanatory  reform  gives  additional  power  and  freedom  to 
mankind,  226. 

Satire  becomes  narrative  when  aimed  at  the  Law,  10. 

Savings,  the  investment  of,  a  question  of  the  highest  im- 
portance, lOI. 

Scandal  a  resource  against  dulness,  36. 

Schools  an  instance  of  misplaced  labor,  12. 

Schoolmasters  would  form  a  good  means  of  communica- 
tion with  the  poor,  106. 

Schoolmistresses  would  form  a  good  means  of  communi- 
cation with  the  poor,  106. 

Scriptures,  the,  probable  misrepresentations  of,  23. 

Seduction  a  poor  transaction,  163. 

Self-denial,  when  to  be  admired,  31. 

Self-inflicted  suffering  which  cannot  be  turned  to  account 
for  others,  a  loss,  30. 

Self-restraint  the  great  tutor,  95. 

Sermons,  competition  in  length  of,  33;  those  we  preach 
for  ourselves  always  interesting,  1 19 ;  too  many  preached 
217. 

Shaftesbury,  an  instance  of  the  compatibility  of  literature 
with  action,  72. 

Shelley,  lines  of  his  applied  to  love,  112. 

Shrewd  writers  often  the  most  easy  to  impose  upon,  51. 

Sidney,  an  instance  that  literature  is  compatible  with  ac- 
tion, 71. 

Silence,  the  great  fellow-workman,  224. 

Sins,  easy  to  manufacture,  31. 

Small  anxieties  hard  to  bear,  184;  art  in  managing  them, 
185;  hard  to  dismiss,  186. 

Small  errors  often  alter  the  course  of  a  man's  life,  14. 

Smith,  Sydney,  his  opinion  of  past  pleasure,  18. 

Smoke,  suppression  of,  153. 

Social  abuses,  erroneous  views  of,  85. 


ixn/:x.  273 

Social  disabilities,  the  removal  of,  would  give  room  for 
freedom  of  thought  and  action,  328. 

Social  evils  compared  to  old  trees,  66;  importance  of  una- 
nimity with  respect  to,  151. 

Social  life,  returns  for  causes  of  suffering  in,  suggested, 
41 ;  men  ill  prepared  for,  197;  how  to  fit  man  for,  197. 

Social  pleasures  not  necessarily  wrong,  29;  aflbrd  scope 
for  charity,  34. 

Social  troubles  equal  to  national  ones,  42. 

Socialism  put  forward  to  fill  the  void  of  government,  102. 

Socrates,  his  philosophy  cannot  be  imitated  here  in  Eng- 
land, 7. 

Somers,  an  instance  of  the  comp^Ttibility  of  literature  with 
action,  72. 

Spanish  colonists  in  America,  the  first,  beg  that  lawyers 
may  not  go  out  to  their  colony,  10. 

Spanish  poetry,  quotation  from,  on  pleasure,  17. 

Spanish  proverbs,  88. 

Stars,  the,  thoughts  suggested  by  their  aspect,  19S;  speak 
significantly  to  all,  253. 

Statesmanship,  one  of  its  great  arts,  37;  always  appears 
to  come  too  late,  63. 

Statesmen,  to  be  looked  up  to  as  protectors  from  lawyers, 
9;  two  different  things  demanded  from,  65 ;  their  indi- 
vidual temperament  affects  government,  68;  tempera- 
ment desirable  for,  68;  principles  to  be  inculcated  in,  69; 
work  of,  compared  with  tliat  of  a  lawyer,  172. 

St.  John,  an  instance  of  the  compatibility  of  literature 
with  action,  72. 

Success  depends  upon  the  temperament  of  a  man,  56;  in 
life,  man's  faculties  inadequate  to,  15. 

Sudden  distress  and  destitution  amongst  young  women, 
how  to  be  averted,  103. 

Sun,  the,  worshipped  by  few  idolaters,   19: ;   his  simple 
form  provoked   no  desire  to  worship,    192 ;    all   nature 
bending  slightly  forwards  in  a  supplicating  attitude  lo 
him,  might  be  visible  to  finer  senses,  192. 
18 


274  INDEX. 

Superabundance,  error  of,  in  the  vices  of  mankind  a  field 

for  it,  241. 
Swift,  his  imaginings  not  more  absurd  than  transactions 

in  the  law,  10. 
Sjlla,  his  retirement  majestic,  242. 
Systems  save  the  trouble  of  tliinking,  69. 

T. 

Teaching  difficult  from  want  of  distinct  convictions,  22. 

Temperament,  the  best  for  success  described,  56. 

Temple,  Sir  William,  an  instance  of  the  compatibility  of 
literature  with  action,  72. 

Theology,  science  of,  would  not  have  existed  if  all  clergy- 
men had  been  Christians,  156. 

Thoughts  at  the  mercy  of  accident,  156;  reason  for  main- 
taining them  long  on  the  mind,  237. 

Time,  every  thing  a  function  of,  244;  needful  demands  on, 
244. 

Timidity  of  mind  renders  women  the  victims  of  conven- 
tionality, 107. 

Tiresomeness  belongs  not  to  virtue  alone,  238. 

Titian,  pictures  of,  truly  admired  only  by  a  kindred  gen- 
ius, 204. 

Tragedy,  different  phases  of,  155. 

Translation  compared  to  the  copies  of  Leonardo  da  Vinci's 
fresco  of  The  Last  Supper,  23. 

Traveller,  anecdote  of  one,  205. 

Travellers,  hints  to,  on  their  behavior,  209. 

Travelling  in  a  carriage,  delights  of,  140;  must  improve 
all  men,  159;  ancient  mode  of,  compared  with  modern, 
196;  advantages  of,  198-201 ;  enjoyments  of,  201. 

Truth  sustains  great  loss  in  Church  questions,  24;  carries 
in  its  hand  all  earthly  and  all  heavenly  consolations,  171. 

Tyranny  of  the  weak,  a  fertile  subject,  37;  by  whom  exer- 
cised, 38;  why  endured,  38;  the  generous  great  sufferers 
from,  38;  compared  to  an  evil  government,  38;  great  in 


INDEX.  275 

quiet  times,  38;  analysis  of,  38;  its  cessation  suggested, 
39;  a  common  form  of  it,  39:  reason  for  putting  a  limit 
to  it,  39. 

U. 

Uncharitable  speeches,  a  fear  of,   the  incentive  to  many 

courses  of  evil,  91. 
Uncultivated  people  seldom  just  or  tolerant,  142. 
Unhappiness,   regret   at   having   missed   the  one  desired 

happiness  a  common  form  of,  188;  medicaments  for  this 

form  of,  iSS. 

V. 

Vanity  arises  from  blindness  to  proportion,  153. 

Variety  found  in  travelling  diverts  the  mind,  19S. 

Vice,  its  usual  victims,  97. 

Vices,  some  of  the  most  dangerous  flourish  most  in  soli- 
tude, 29;  of  mankind,  a  field  for  the  error  of  supera- 
bundance, 241. 

Violence  always  loss,  18. 

Virgil,  quotation  from,  235. 

Virtuous,  the  charity  recommended  to  them,  88. 

Visual  image,  which  should  change  according  to  the  want 
of  truth  in  the  comments  upon  the  person  seen,  im- 
agined, 179. 

w. 

Wages  of  poor,  improvement  in  dwellings  a  means  of 
making  them  go  further,  100;  improvement  in  the  rep- 
resentation and  transfer  of  property  a  means  of  enabling 
them  to  go  further,  loi. 

Wisdom  an  aid  in  bearing  injustice,  183. 

Women  brought  up  here  to  be  incompetent  to  the  man- 
agement of  affairs,  11 ;  their  fondness  for  merit  a  cause 
of  their  frailty,  94;  rarely  deceived  by  theories  about 
equality,  94;  immense  importance  of  a  better  education 
to  them,   107;   love  personal  talk,   128;    do  not  always 


276  INDEX. 

understand  each  other,  136;  some  of  the  highest  natures 
amongst  them  may  be  found  in  the  lowest  ranks,  141 ; 
have  to  endure  an  undue  proportion  of  poverty,  143 :  a 
wrong  .appreciation  of  their  powers  circumscribe  their 
means  of  employment,  144;  generally  deficient  in  meth- 
od, 144;  want  accuracy,  144;  new  sources  of  employ- 
ment might  be  opened  to  them,  145 ;  government  not  fit 
for  them,  145 ;  more  slavish  to  small  conventionalities 
than  men,  234. 

World,  the,  its  advancement  depends  upon  the  use  of 
small  balances  of  advantage  over  disadvantage,  13;  no 
one  discovery  resuscitates  it,  13 ;  its  want  of  ingenuity 
and  arrangement  in  not  providing  employment  for  its 
unemployed,  145 ;  always  correcting  its  opinions,  175. 

World,  we  are  in  the  thick  of  one  of  misunderstanding, 
haste,  blindness,  passion^  indolence,  and  private  inter- 
est, 183. 

Workwomen,  small  wages  of,  100. 

Would-be  teachers,  suggestions  to,  25. 

Writer,  a,  often  requires  less  to  make  things  logically  clear 
to  men,  than  to  put  them  into  the  mood  he  wishes  to 
have  them  in,  115. 

Y. 

Youth,  beauty  of,  114;  modern,  cause  of  their  shyness  and 

coldness,  233. 
Young  talent  not  made  just  use  of,  231. 


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From  the  London  Review. 
"The  tale  fRKALMAii]  is  a  comparatively  brief  one,  intersected  by  the 
conversations  of  a  variety  of  able  pcrsonaces,  witli  most  of  whose  names  and 
characters  we  are  already  familiar  through  Friends  in  Council.'  Looking  at  it 
in  connection  with  the  social  and  political  lessons  that  are  wrapt  up  in  it,  we  may 
fairly  attribute  to  it  a  higher  value  than  could  possibly  attach  to  a  common  piece 
of  fiction." 

From  a  notice  by  JIfiss  E.  M.  Converse. 

"There  are  many  reasons  why  we  like  this  irregular  book  [Realmah],  in 
which  we  should  find  the  dialogue  tedious  without  the  story  ;  the  story  dull 
without  the  dialogue ;  and  the  whole  unmeaning,  unless  we  discerned  the 
purpose  of  the  author  underlying  the  lines,  and  interweaving,  now  here,  now 
there,  a  criticism,  a  suggestion,  an  aphorism,  a  quaint  illustration,  an  exhorta- 
tion, a  metaphysical  deduction,  or  a  moral  inference. 

"We  like  a  book  in  which  we  are  not  bound  to  read  consecutively,  whose 
leaves  we  can  turn  at  pleasure  and  find  on  every  page  something  to  amuse,  inter- 
est, and  instruct.  It  is  like  a  charming  walk  in  the  woods  in  early  summer,  where 
we  are  attracted  now  to  a  lowly  flower  half  hidden  under  soft  moss;  now  to  a 
shrub  brilliant  with  showy  blossoms  ;  now  to  the  grandeur  of  .i  spreading  tree; 
now  to  a  bit  ol  fleecy  cloud ;  and  now  to  the  blue  of  the  overarching  sky. 

"We  gladly  place  '  Kealinah'  on  the  '  book-lined  wall,'  by  the  side  of  other 
chosen  friends,  —  the  sharp,  terse  s.ayings  of  the  'Doctor;'  the  suggestive  utter- 
ances of  the  'Nodes;'  the  sparkling"  and  brilliant  thoughts  of  '^Montaigne;' 
and  the  gentle  teachings  of  the  charming  '  Elia.'  " 

Frotn  a  notice  by  Miss  11.  II '.  Preston. 

"  It  must  be  because  the  reading  world  is  unregenerate  that  Arthur  Helps 
is  not  a  general  favorite.  Somebody  once  said  (was  it  Kuskin,  at  whose  imperious 
order  so  many  of  us  read  '  Friends  in  Council,'  a  dozen  years  ago  ?)  that  apprecia- 
tion of  Helps  is  a  sure  test  of  culture.  Not  so  much  that,  one  may  suggest,  as  of 
a  certain  native  fineness  and  excellence  of  mind.  The  impression  prevails  among 
some  of  those  who  do  not  read  him  that  Helps  is  a  hard  writer.  Nothing  could 
be  more  erroneous.  His  manner  is  simplicity  itself;  his  speech  always  winning, 
and  of  a  silvery  distinctness.  There  arc  hosts  of  ravenous  readers,  lively  and 
capable,  who,  if  their  vague  prejudice  were  removed,  would  exceedingly  enjoy 
the  gentle  wit,  the  unassuming  wisdom,  and  the  refreshing  oripin.ility  of  the  author 
in  question.  There  are  men  and  women,  mostly  young,  with  souls  that  some- 
times weary  of  the  serials,  who  need  nothing  so  much  as  a  persuasive  guide  to  the 
study  of  worthier  and  more  enduring  literature.  For  most  of  those  who  read 
novels  with  avidity  are  capable  of  reading  something  else  with  avidity,  if  tliey 
only  knew  it.  .And  such  a  guide,  and  pleasantest  ot  all  such  guides,  is  Arthur 
Helps.  .  .  .  Yet  '  Casimir  Maremma  is  a  charming  book,  and,  better  still, 
invigorating.  Try  it.  V'ou  are  going  into  the  cv*unlry  for  tlve  summer  months 
that  remain.  Have  'Casimir'  with  you,  and  have  'Realmah,'  too.  The  for- 
mer is  the  pleasanter  book,  the  latter  the  more  powerful.  Hut,  if  you  like  one,  you 
will  like  the  other.  At  the  least,  you  will  rise  from  their  perusal  with  a  grateful 
sense  ot  having  been  received  for  a  time  into  a  select  and  happy  circle,  where 
intellectual  breeding  is  perfect,  and  the  struggle  for  brilli-incy  unknown." 

SoU  n'erywhere.  Mailed,  />ost/>>tid,  on  receipt  0/  advertised /rice,  by  th4 
Pubiislurs, 

ROBERT.S    liROrilERS,  Boston. 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers''  Publications. 


QUIET    HOURS. 

A    COLLECTION   OF   POEMS,   MEDITATIVE 
AND    RELIGIOUS. 


"Under  this  modest  title  we  have  here  about  a  hundred  and  fifty  of  the  best 
short  poems  in  the  language.  Tlie  compiler,  whoever  she  is,  has  a  rare  taste,  and 
also,  what  is  equally  valuable,  good  judgment.  The  poems  are  on  all  subjects. 
This  dainty  little  volume  is  just  the  book  for  a  Christmas  or  New  Year's  gift." 
—  Peterson's  Magazine. 

"  Such  a  book  as  this  seems  to  us  much  better  adapted  than  any  formal  book 
of  devotion  to  beget  a  calm  and  prayerful  spirit  in  the  reader.  It  will  no  doubt 
become  a  dear  companion  to  many  earnestly  religious  people."  —  Christian 
Register. 

"  '  Quiet  Hours '  is  the  appropriate  title  which  some  unnamed  compiler  has  given 
to  a  collection  of  musings  of  many  writers  —  a  nosegay  made  up  of  some  slighter, 
choicer,  and  more  delicate  flowers  from  the  garden  of  the  poets.  Emerson, 
Chadwick,  Higginson,  Arnold,  Whittier,  and  Clough,  are  represented,  as  well  as 
Coleridge,  Browning,  Wordsworth,  and  Tennyson  ;  and  the  selections  widely 
vary  in  character,  ranging  from  such  as  relate  to  the  moods  and  aspects  of  na- 
ture, to  voices  of  the  soul  when  most  deeply  stirred."  —  Cotigregatiottalist. 


i8mo,  cloth,  red  edges.     Price  $i.oo.     Sold  by  all  Book- 
sellers.    Mailed,  postpaid,  by  the  Publishers, 


ROBERTS    BROTHERS, 

Boston, 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


Form  L9-42m-8,'49  (B5573 )  444 


Ill    SnilTMfRN  RFGiatjAL  LinR/.RY  rAfll  ITr 


AA    000  376  516 


PR 
47  79 
H9co 


